A Long Journey
by All-things
Summary: Summary: Alternate ending for "Swing Shift." What if Newkirk wasn't assigned to Stalag 13 when he was drafted, what if Hogan failed in his attempt to get him out? What would have happen? Finished.
1. Who is Mueller?

Hogan's Heroes

Summary: Alternate ending for "Swing Shift." What if Newkirk wasn't assigned to Stalag 13 when he was drafted, what if Hogan failed in his attempt to get him out? What would have happen?

Note: I don't own Hogan's Heroes.

* * *

Chapter One

Everyone looked up as they heard the bell go off. Colonel Hogan looked at his men who were starting to look nervous. He didn't blame them. A knot was starting to take shape in his stomach as well. In the spy business, anything could go wrong. He knew the day he had volunteered to start an Underground operation in the middle of Nazi Germany, in a prisoner of war camp even, that there was an enormous amount of risk. He knew it then, he knew it now. Now, as everyone gathered in the rather large room, with machines and conveyer-belts surrounding them, Hogan prepared for the worst. He and his men were undercover in a cannon factory trying to either stop or at least slow production. They watched the owner of the factory, _Herr_ Hans Spear, walk to the middle of the room, looking at a list of some kind, followed by a German officer. That wasn't good. They braced themselves when _Herr_ Spear looked up, saying, "Who is Mueller?"

Silence met the question.

"Step forvard."

Finally, after a few seconds of hesitation, Mueller, who actually happened to be Newkirk, stepped forward. Hogan could see the Englishman tense as he waited for Spear to continue.

"I have an important announcement. Mueller here, vill not be vith us anymore," said Spear. Newkirk looked at Hogan. Robert saw the younger man blanch. Hogan felt the bottom of his stomach drop out, knot and all. He was sure they'd been caught, or at least Newkirk.

The fat German continued. "I vant you to take your last look at him. The next time you see him, he vill be Private Mueller of the German Army. Congratulations, your enlistment just came through. I know I speak for all of the men here vhen I say, how proud ve are of you. Right, isn't that right?"

Applause erupted from the factory workers. Hogan and his other two men joined, pretending to be happy for their unlucky friend. Hogan took a step forward and said, "_Jawohl, _tomorrow there'll be a service star in my vindow for him."

At that, he heard Newkirk mutter under his breath, "That's touchin', real touchin'." It was obvious the Englishman was not happy with the situation. Heck, neither was Hogan. But it wasn't like they could do anything about it now.

Spear, unsuspecting, walked up to Newkirk and put an arm around his shoulder and said, "I know how anxious you must be to leave. Your escort vill take you directly to the induction center," then he shook the Corporal's hand, "Good luck Mueller and give it to those Allies," not knowing he was _talking_ to an Ally.

"Oh, I vill. The first chance I get," replayed Newkirk, giving the chart and hammer he was holding to his Colonel. Hogan inwardly winced. No, he definitely was _not_ happy.

"Vell, back to vork, there's a var on, you know!" Spear looked at the corporal, "Mueller?"

Colonel Hogan watched helplessly as Spear again threw an arm over Newkirk's shoulder and started to lead him away.

Once everyone had gone back to work, Hogan's two remaining men came to life.

"What are we going to do, Colonel? They're taking him away!" said Carter. The American sergeant was starting to panic.

"He's going to be in the German army!" said LeBeau. The little Frenchman's voice held its own tone of panic.

"Alright, hold it down," Hogan ordered in a lower voice, "I was here too, remember?"

"But we got to do something," insisted LeBeau.

"Poor Newkirk. Boy, could you imagine going through basic training again?" asked Carter.

"And as a private," replied LeBeau, "They might as well at least give him his strips back."

It was then that Sergeant Schultz came in. The fat sergeant looked worried and a bit pale. Almost like he just woke up from a dead faint. Schultz, being the Sergeant of the Guard for Stalag 13, knew who they all really were, POWs. Hogan couldn't help but remember how easy it was to get him to turn the other way and how lucky they were that Spear came to Kommandant Klink to ask if he could borrow some of his guards for the factory; only until Spear could get his own. "Colonel Hogan, please tell me it is not true; what I just heard. _Please _tell me it's not true!" Schultz pleaded. He knew that if someone found out who Newkirk really was or who Hogan, LeBeau, and Carter were, he would be shot or sent to the Russian front or both!

"That what isn't true, Schultz?" Hogan asked.

"That Newkirk enlisted in the German army."

"He's _in_ the German army. But, don't worry, he'll visit you when he comes home on furlough," Hogan replayed. He was very annoyed at the whole turn of events, not to mention worried that he might not be able to save his man.

"I don't want him to visit me. I don't want him to be in the German army. It is against rules for _one_ man to be in _two_ armies in _one_ _war_!" said Schultz waving his figure almost like he was scolding a child.

"Schultz, we're no happier about this than _you_ are that he's in the German army, but it happened by accident and we don't know how to get him out."

"If I think about what Kommandant Klink is going to do to me when he hears about it-no, no, no, I don't want to think."

Hogan was in deep thought. Trying to find a way to save the corporal from whatever fate he was sure to meet when he got assigned.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw LeBeau look up at him, then said, "Hey, I just thought of something. What if he doesn't pass the physical? You know, kind of fool the doctor."

"Newkirk could do it, he's the kind of guy that would." Hogan commented, still in deep thought.

"Well, forget it," said Carter, "If it's anything like my draft board. They took your x-ray and if your bones showed, you were in."

"Do you think it is possible he would not pass the physical examination?" Schultz asked, a smile of hope appearing on his face.

"Judge for yourself, Schultz. You passed."

The sergeant looked down at his rather large belly and the smile disappeared.

Hogan somehow didn't think that Newkirk would be able to do it. Not because he wasn't a good actor, but because the Germans weren't too picky when it came to new recruits. He had to think of some way to get Newkirk out of there.

* * *

Newkirk came into the doctor's office and shut the door. _'Ere we go, _he thought. The doctor looked up at him and the first thing that crossed his mind was how much the German doctor looked like one of those mad scientists from all those horror movies. He could just see him sawing away with his victim screaming in agony underneath the blade. The vision suddenly disappeared when the doctor spoke to him.

"Sit in the brown chair."

Newkirk gave a nervous smile well he looked around and spotted a brown chair behind him. He "limped" over to it and sat down.

"Color recognition, excellent," said the doctor as he got up from his chair.

Newkirk couldn't help but be a little surprised at that. _Oh, blimey,_ he thought, _this is going to 'arder than I f'ought._

"Your name?" the doctor continued.

"Uh, um, Muller, Wolfgang Muller."

"Memory, perfect." Without warning, the doctor pulled out a gun from his pocket and pointed it at Newkirk and fired it.

Newkirk jumped several inches. If he were four decades older he would have had a heart attack right then and there. "Hearing, perfect. Reflexes, excellent," the German said he set the gun full of blanks on the desk behind him. Newkirk was about ready to clobber him by then.

"Have you had serious illnesses or major operations?"

"You name it, doctor, I have had it."

"In the last three days."

"In the last three days?"

"Since Tuesday noon, to be exact."

"Tuesday, vhat vas I doing Tuesday?" Newkirk muttered to himself, still a little shaken up by the hearing and reflex exercise.

"Obviously not. Congratulations, Mueller, you're in the army." The doctor turned and sat back down behind the desk.

Newkirk wasn't willing to give up yet. He got up and went to stand in front of the doctor's desk.

"The examinations over, th-that's it?"

"Correct. Vait outside."

Newkirk was starting to get desperate. He leaned in, forcing the doctor to look at him.

"That's inhuman; I could be a very sick man."

"And vorse if you don't obey orders."

"But I have all kinds of things wrong vith me. Don't you even vant to look at my blood?"

"Vhy, are you bleeding? Outside!"

It was obvious to Newkirk that it was hopeless. So he turned and walked to the door, still limping. Maybe the doctor didn't see it the first time. It didn't work. As He left the room, shutting the door behind him, he stopped limping. He walked over to a chair and sat down. He was going to have to find a different way to get himself out of this mess.

Newkirk felt a sinking feeling. If he couldn't think of something, he hoped the Colonel would.

* * *

Hogan took a deep breath and walked over to Spear carrying one of the faulty cannon in his arms. He had a plan. If he could get Spear to think "Mueller" was an important part of the factory, then maybe he could convince him to call Newkirk back. Before Newkirk was drafted, they had reset the settings to one of the machines that drilled the holes through the cannons. Instead of drilling all the way through, it now drilled the holes only part way through.

Maybe the fact that Mueller was the foremen would make it easier for Hogan to convince Spear that he was indispensable. Everything depended on Hogan.

"_Herr_ Spear," he called out as he walked toward him. The fat factory owner turned to meet him. "I hate to be the von to do this," (1) Hogan continued, "But-," he raised a screw-driver and poked it through the mouth of the cannon he had brought with him. _Clink_,was the sound it made as the screw-driver hit the end of the hole that was _supposed_ to go all the way through.

"Vhat is the meaning of this?!" asked Spear as he began to inspect the faulty cannon.

"Inefficiency, _Herr_ Spear. I vas afraid something like this vould happen, vith _Herr_ Mueller gone."

"Mueller is in the army," Spear said, a bit confused.

"A man of your influence could get him out."

"But Mueller vas only a foremen, they vould laugh at me."

"I can assure you they vould laugh at this." Hogan pointed at the cannon in Spear's hands.

"It von't happen again." The German handed the cannon back to Hogan and began to walk away.

Hogan panicked. "You vant to bet?" he muttered loud enough for Spear to hear.

Spear whorled around to face Hogan. "Are you threatening me, _Herr_ Ritter?"

That caught Hogan by surprise. "Uh, no, _Herr_ Spear."

"Then get back to vork and make sure there are no more cannons like this von. Or _you_ vill be in a lot of trouble."

Hogan was speechless. He watched in shock as Spear walked away. Suddenly Hogan realized that they might not be able to help Newkirk. And it was his fault. Spear was really their only hope. If only he hadn't of panicked. But, maybe… maybe they could still get him out. They couldn't do anything here, though. If they could find out where their friend had been assigned, if he had yet, then they could stage an attack and "kidnap" him. They could get what information they needed from the Underground. Where Newkirk had been assigned, when would he leave, what rout would they take, nothing the Underground couldn't handle. But right now they had work at the factory. He decided to go ahead and blow it up as had been previously discussed. He took the cannon back to where his men had been watching. He could see the disappointment on their faces, but when he told them his plan, the disappointment changed to hope.

"If it'll help Newkirk, than count me in, pal, uh, I mean sir," Carter said, turning a little red for calling his commanding officer "pal".

"_Oui_ _Colonenel,_ he would do the same for us," was LeBeau's response.

"Okay, Carter, go ahead and rig the factory. LeBeau and I will cover for you, if necessary," ordered Hogan.

"Yes sir!" With that, the young American Sergeant went down to the cellar full of dynamite to do what he did best.

"_Colonenel_?"

"Yeah, LeBeau?"

"Don't worry, Pierre will be fine."

"I sure hope so."

* * *

Private Wolfgang Mueller, a.k.a. Newkirk, sat in a room awaiting his orders. He was in a grey, _Wehrmacht_ uniform, fidgeting with the gun they had issued to him. It was morning and he was tired. But the situation he was in made it impossible for him to sleep. He was too nervous. Ever since he had left that mad doctor's office, he had not been able to think of another way to get out of the army without getting himself killed. As he sat there, thinking desperately, a knot forming in his stomach, other men in the room were trying to keep themselves occupied. Newkirk wasn't the only one waiting for his assignment. There was at least seven other men in the waiting room with him, or at least it seemed like a waiting room. It was actually a sleeping quarters for the men waiting to be assigned, but the others, including Newkirk, were either too nervous or too excited to use it for what it was meant for; sleeping. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, an officer came in the room. Everyone came to attention.

"At ease, soldiers, I am Major Pintz. I have come to inform you that you all have been assigned to the Eastern Front. Your train vill be leaving later this evening, at 1600 hours. Once there, you will receive your basic training in Bryansk, Russia. Then you will be sent to help our men on the front. I know how eager you probably are to move out, but you vill have to vait…" Newkirk was nearly about to faint, "…you have six and a half hours before you have to be at the station, so I suggest you get some sleep. Good luck, Gentlemen," and with that, Major Pintz gave them a salute out of respect for the men whose fate was something the major was glad was not his own. All of them returned it, even Newkirk, who was the verge of blacking out. Then the major left. Newkirk shakily sat back down. Now he was in _big_ trouble. He had been nervous about where he would be assigned, but he never really thought he would be sent to the Russian Front! _Cor blimey, _he thought,_ now I'm in big trouble. Where are you Gov'ner? I can't f'ink of any'f'in' to get meself out of 'ere._

The next six and a half hours were spent by Newkirk lying in his temporary bunk staring at the ceiling. He knew he wasn't going to get any sleep, but he wanted the others to think he was, and leave him alone. The whole time he thought desperately as those six and a half hours ticked away slowly but surely. The whole time he felt so sick he thought he was going to throw up at any second. When it came time to leave for the station, he carried the bag he had been given to the truck that was to take them to their train. He was wondering if the Gov'ner and the others had thought of some way to rescue him. Maybe they would ambush the truck before it got into town. Or the Gov'ner would come out of nowhere in a German uniform with "papers" saying that he was to be re-assigned or claim that he was a traitor or Underground agent and take him away. Newkirk was suddenly filled with hope for the first time that morning, trusting that the Gov'ner had everything under control.

He had avoided the men he had been stuck with as much as possible, keeping conversations down to a minimal. When he jumped into the truck he sat himself in a corner to make himself less conspicuous; crossing his arms and closing his eyes, he bowed his head, giving the impression that he wanted to be left alone. When everyone was seated, they started out to the Hamleburg train station.

After about five minutes of silence, one of the men, the one sitting next to Newkirk, spoke. He was a skinny young blond who probably wasn't more than twenty, he looked a bit timid as he addressed his countrymen in their native language, "_Well, since it seems we'll be traveling together to Russia, I think we should introduce ourselves? I'm Clovis Zoeller."_

The next man to speak was an older man, most likely somewhere in his forties. _"Yes, good idea, young man. My name is Erich Piel._" He looked at the man next to him, who gave his name and the next man stated his and on it went. When it was Newkirk's turn all he said was, "_Mueller,"_ not even bothering to open his eyes. He decided to act like a loner, someone who only looked out for himself.

He could understand everything they said. Ever since that time the Germans had kept stolen gold from France in Stalag 13, he had made sure to learn the language. He could never forget how scared he was when the officer in charge came and asked him a question in his native tongue when Newkirk was disguised as one of his guards. (3) He had managed to guess what he was asked and gave the officer an answer in the little German he knew at the time. After that, he spent long hours teaching himself how to speak the language fluently. Then, Colonel Hogan, having gone through a similar experience, thought it would be good for all of them to learn German. So, Peter agreed to teach the rest of the group. Kinch was his best pupil. The big, black man picked it up almost as fast as he did. Than it was Carter, who had a flair for acting himself; he could pull a very convincing German officer. Than LeBeau and last the Colonel, who was still having trouble with some of the pronunciation.

The conversation continued. The others didn't seem interested in him and he tried to look not interested in them.

They arrived at the train station in forty minutes. Nothing had happened along the way. Newkirk looked to see if he could spot the Colonel or Carter or LeBeau or anyone, but there was no one that he recognized. When it was his turn to board the train, he gave one last look around, but he saw no one. It was then Newkirk realized that he was alone. That he had to get himself out of this mess. He felt despair threating to take over. No, there was still time to think of something, he wasn't going to give up, not now, not ever. He got on the train.

*******************

Tiger stood on the platform of the Hamleburg train station. She had just sent an escape prisoner from Stalag 16 to France. Once he got there, someone would meet him and take him the rest of the way to England. She smiled. She was always happy when yet another Allied solider got away to come back again and help liberate her precious France. She had stayed there at the station after the train had left, watching the people. She had nothing to do, so she took the chance to observe the people around her and gather any information that might be helpful.

It was five minutes before four, when she saw him. One of Papa Bear's men, and dressed as a German soldier. This didn't surprise her. Knowing Papa Bear and his men, it was common to see them in such attire. But something was wrong. She could tell by the way his eyes surveyed the crowd, as if looking for someone. When Tiger saw the look on his face right before he got on the train, though, that was when she knew he was in trouble. The look on his face was one of despair and fear. She scanned the crowd, looking for someone that might have been following him. But there was no one she could see. She decided to go home and contact Papa Bear about what she saw. She was walking away from the station, when she heard the whistle blow. The train was leaving.

She hoped that she was mistaken, and that it was part of Hogan's plan; because she knew where that train was heading, Russia.

* * *

(1) Von is my attempt on a German accent. Von = one.

(2) "The Gold Rush" Hogan's Heroes season one.


	2. Things Gone Wrong

Chapter 2

Kinch watched Colonel Hogan pace the tunnel. He had been at it for an hour now and Kinch could see that the Colonel was starting to make a rut in the dirt floor. It was obvious that he was thinking, and thinking hard.

They had already told Colonel Klink that Newkirk "escaped" and, naturally, the Kommandant let loose the dogs and sent every available guard out to look for the runaway Corporal.

Kinch was sitting at the radio. Carter was trying to read a book without much success. He was seated on a bench against the wall opposite of the radio. LeBeau was sitting next to him with a Gestapo uniform on his lap. The little Frenchman had been trying, for the past hour, to fix the torn sleeve. He would sew a little, then stop, sit there a few minutes, sigh, look down and start sewing again, then sigh even louder when he realized that he had sewn it wrong, undo it and restart, only to stop and think some more, and repeat the procedure all over again. Kinch would have found it amusing if it weren't for the reason behind LeBeau's lack of concentration. He was worried about Peter. They all were.

When the others had come back earlier this morning, they had told him everything. Hogan immediately ordered Kinch to contact the Underground. He told them what had happened and if they could gather the information they needed to make their move. That had been at 0300 hours, though. The Underground said they would get back to Hogan as soon as possible, and it was now going on 1830 hours and they hadn't heard a word.

Kinch never remembered a silence so tense. Even when his little brother had drowned and his dad revived him on the beach. That was one of the scariest moments in all his life. He could remember very thing clearly, the near panic in his dad's eyes, the silent tears rolling down his mom's cheek. Those thirty seconds seemed to last a life time. But, now, it had been close to an hour since anyone said anything. Excepted for the Colonel's pacing and the occasional sigh from Louis, no one made a sound. It was driving him insane. He needed something to take his mind off the uncomfortable knot that had planted itself in his stomach the very first time he heard the news. Normally, Newkirk would have gotten a conversation going by now, because he couldn't stand the tension, either. It always helped too, no matter what it was about, it had always eased the stress, if not the mood. But Newkirk wasn't here.

Kinch took a deep breath and was about to say something when the radio came to life, causing him to jump and nearly fall off his chair.

"Tiger calling Papa Bear, Tiger calling Papa Bear. Come in, please."

Kinch answered without any hesitation. Picking up the microphone, Kinch replied, "This is Papa Bear, go ahead, Tiger."

By then the others had gathered around the radio, each expressing emotions of hope, fear, anxiety, and relief.

"Papa Bear," continued Tiger, "I saw one of your men at the Hamleburg train station and was calling to make sure everything is alright. He looked as if he was in trouble."

Hogan took over, gabbing the microphone from Kinch, "Tiger, when did you see him?"

"I saw him board the four o'clock train. Is something wrong?"

"Do you know where the train was heading?"

"It was heading east, to Russia."

Dead silence consumed the room as Tiger's words sunk in. The knot that had formed in Kinch's stomach grew larger as he realized that they were too late. _Oh, Peter…_

"Are you still there, Papa Bear?"

"Yeah, we're here. What train did get he on?"

"The Berlin Express."

"Thanks, Tiger, for telling us."

"You're welcome. Papa Bear…what has happened?"

Hogan sighed. "He's been accidently drafted and is now, apparently, on his way to the Russian front."

There was silence from the other end, then, "Is there anything we can do?"

Now the Colonel was getting annoyed, "I've already _asked_ for help, but we were put on the waiting list. And _now_ it's too late!" Hogan sighed again. "Sorry."

"You do not need to apologize. I understand how you feel. But do not worry. Papa Bear and his men are known to be very resourceful. I am sure he will find a way."

"I wish I were as optimistic."

"You will see. He will make it. But I must go. Bye, Tiger out."

"Papa Bear out."

Kinch watch the Colonel put down the microphone. Then Carter asked, "Do you think she's right, Colonel? Do you really think Newkirk will come home?"

Colonel Hogan looked at Carter. Kinch could tell that the Colonel didn't think so, but didn't want to say anything, especially not to Carter. So, rapping his arms around himself, he said, "You know Newkirk, Carter. He's not one to give up and he's got just as much a chance as any to make this one out alive. Besides, we still need to celebrate the firework show the cannon factory was so kind enough to display and you don't really think Newkirk will pass up a chance to go to town, do you?"

Carter smiled despite himself. They had seen the factory go up in flames from all the way in camp. Kinch could still see that Andrew was worried about his friend, though.

Then Kinch had an idea, "Colonel, what if we stopped the train and got Newkirk out by saying he was a traitor or an Underground agent?"

"No, Kinch, it's too late for that. Didn't you hear Tiger? She said that he got on the four o'clock train. That was two and a half hours ago, he's probably at the Polish border by now."

"Who says _we_ have to do it, _mon Colonenel_?" asked LeBeau, everyone looked at him, "We contact the Underground and tell them that we need a train stopped, and they'll contact the Underground in that area, who will stop it and bring Newkirk back here."

Hogan began to pace again. Then after a few minutes he stopped and looked at his men. There was a twinkle in his eyes along with a lop-sided grin on his face. "You know, it's crazy. Crazy enough to work. Kinch, contact the Underground. Let's bring our boy-in-arms home."

****************

Newkirk looked at his watch. _Six o'clock,_ he thought, _it's been two and a 'alf 'ours and I still 'aven't come up wif any'f'in'._ Well, that wasn't entirely true. The thing is, he did think of something, but jumping off a moving train wasn't all that appealing. He just hadn't thought of something _else_ yet.

So far, the train ride had been uneventful. They had stopped once to pick up more troops and supplies. Newkirk had come up with an excuse to get off the train by pretending to want to call his family, but that didn't work. So, he just sat there and sulked until the train started on its merry way again. The whole time he felt sick. The hopelessness of the situation was starting to takes its effect. He was so sure that his Gov'ner would come to rescue him. But Hogan never showed up. He was really, truly alone. He had never felt such agonizing despair. Even when he was beaten daily by his dad, he had Mavis, his little sister.

He had been born about a year after his parents married, in 1915, his sister, about a year after that, during the Great War. In 1917, his old man (who wasn't very old than) joined the army. Peter had been five years old when his dad came back. But he didn't come back the same. The war changed him and it wasn't for the better.

In 1923, Mrs. Newkirk died from illness. That was when Mr. Newkirk snapped. He beat his kids, started stealing and gambling away what he stole, half the time he was drunk. After three years of living in fear, Peter couldn't stand it any longer. He couldn't stand to watch his baby sister get practically beat to death just because she reminded their dad of their mom. So they ran away. It wasn't easy, but then, he knew it wouldn't have been. He was eleven, Mavis was ten, and they were alone. With nowhere else to go, they joined the circus. There, Peter acquired many different skills. He learned a whole lot of magic tricks, how to sew and tailor, as while as how pick a pocket, how to crack a safe, and how to forge names and signatures. Mavis learned many different kinds of dances and she also became an accomplished seamstress. They stayed with the circus, traveling all over England and sometimes in France. By 1939, they had both become very talented and were well liked by everyone. Then war came.

Newkirk was suddenly snapped out of his reflection by Zoeller, who had pocked him in the arm. The young blonde, had been following him pretty much everywhere he went. Newkirk didn't mind much, though, Zoeller reminded him of Carter. They had the same innocents about them and they both talked a lot. He didn't say much himself, only responding when necessary.

"_You don't say much, do you?"_ They were, of course, speaking in German. Clovis had been telling him about his fifteenth birthday, when he had gotten a horse and named it Fritz.

"_There's not much to say,"_ Newkirk answered.

"_I like you." _He paused, and then asked,_ "You know why?"_

"_Why?"_

"_Because you listen to me. We've been on this train two and a half hours and you haven't told me once to shut up or be quiet. Not every many people do that, you know."_

"_Not everybody likes to have their ear talked off."_

"_You think I talk too much?"_

"_Yes. But don't let that stop you. You just keep on talking and I'll just keep listening."_

Zoeller smiled and then he began to tell Newkirk about his sixteenth birthday, when he and his big brother started the barn on fire. Newkirk smiled. He pretended to be listening for most of the time; he had had a lot practice doing that with Carter. He knew how make it look like he was listening, when he really wasn't.

An hour pasted and still the only way out, he could think of, would be to jump off the train. Newkirk had been thinking hard, but to no avail. One thing he did decide, though, was that no matter what happened he wouldn't give up hope. With this new found determination, he made up his mind to jump off the train. It was dark now, so no one would see him. Zoeller would be the only one who would notice his absence. Newkirk had to somehow distract the young German. _Pity, I was beginin' to like the bloke_, he thought. It was then he noticed that Zoeller was starting to look tired. What luck?

"_You look tired. Why don't you get some rest? I'm going out to stretch my legs."_ The young man only nodded. Newkirk got up and Zoeller moved over to rest his head against the window. Peter, on seeing that Clovis was comfortable, walked out of the booth, sliding shut the door behind him. He made his way to the end of the car and looking back to make sure no one was watching, he opened the door and slipped out.

The first thing that struck Newkirk was how loud it was. As he stood there outside the car, the wind gusted by in a deafening roar. Newkirk could hear the engine at the front of the train. He walked to the side of the small deck. There was railing was all around, except for a small gap so people could get to the next car. He climbed over the railing and was on the other side, bracing himself for the painful impact that hitting the ground was sure to be. He took a deep breath, but before he could let go of the railing, there was a sudden flash of blinding light and a loud noise that sounded like thunder. There was a violent jolt that threw Newkirk off the train. The last thing he thought was, _Oh blimey,_ then, he hit the ground and was surrounded by blackness.

* * *

As the train tore itself apart in the explosion, two Polish men stood watching their handy work. One of them, the taller one, whistled, _"Wow, I think we put too much dynamite on the tracks."_

"_You heard the orders. We were to stop this train. It was by no means, allowed to get to Russia,"_ the shorter man said.

"_Yeah, I wonder what was so important?"_

"_Someone that a man named Papa Bear didn't want to get to Russia. Come on, let go and report that our mission was a success. We also don't want to get caught by the Germans."_

They left, feeling proud of themselves for stopping whoever it was they had stopped. Little did they know….

* * *

LeBeau stood over the stove, stirring a pot of a stew. He added a few ingredients here and there. He wasn't really following the recipe. Not when he was in such a good mood; for he was indeed in a good mood. Unlike Carter, who was sitting on his bunk worrying himself to death, afraid Newkirk wasn't going to come home. LeBeau knew, for a fact, that his Pierre would come back to him. He had tried to convince Andre of it, but the American was determined to worry until their friend was back.

LeBeau smiled. Carter always worried about Newkirk. Whenever he was late on missions, Andrew would sit in a corner and worry. But LeBeau had known the Englishman longer than the rest and Louis knew he would come back. He always did.

LeBeau remembered the first time he had meet Pierre. After he had been captured, Louis had been sent to Stalag 13….

_July 30, 1941_

_Corporal Louis LeBeau was hungry and exhausted. He stood the middle of the compound of a POW camp. What did the German guard say its name was? LeBeau mentally shrugged. He didn't care at that point. He just wanted to go to his barracks, find his bed, curl up and go to sleep._

_Then he was led inside the building he had been standing in front of by a fat sergeant, who looked kind of like a teddy bear with a helmet and a gun. Once inside, he was led to the Kommandant's office, which was straight ahead. The first thing he thought when he saw the Kommandant was that he looked like fish. No, more like a cross between a fish and an eagle, a _bald_ eagle. His eyes were a pale blue, reminding Louis of the sea, and his nose hooked, to some extent, like a beak. He wore a monocle and he was bald. LeBeau guessed he was a colonel, though he wasn't quite sure. Then, the interrogation began. It didn't take long though, because he was so tired couldn't even remember his service number. He knew it started with a 9 and ended with a 4, but forgot the rest. So, Klink, as that was the Kommandant's name, dismissed him. The fat guard, whose name, LeBeau had found out to be Schultz, led him out of the building and across the compound to one of the barracks, Barracks two._

_Once inside, Schultz introduced him its inhabitants then left. When he asked them which bunk was his, they all pointed to the first one after a table which was in the middle of the room. He had the top. So, without another word, he walked over to it, he threw his duffle bag on the ground, with what little it had in it, and tried to climb on it. But he was so tired, and not to mention he was too short, that he couldn't get up. LeBeau could hear some of the men laughing at him. He probably did look silly and just when he was about to give up, someone came up behind him and said, "'Ere now, let me 'elp you wif that."_

_LeBeau looked around to see a RAF corporal kneeling down with his hands clasp to make a foothold for him. Louis smiled wearily, but gratefully, and putting his foot in the Englishman's hands, was hoisted up to his bed._

"_Merci," was all he could manage to say._

"_No trouble at all, mate."_

_LeBeau fall into a deep and much needed sleep._

Present

LeBeau would never forget the first time he laid eyes on the RAF flier. He looked like a saint at the time, and Louis had found it ironic when he learned that his name was Peter. After he had woken up, he had looked for the Englishman to thank him. And _that_, was the beginning of their unbreakable friendship.

He tested the stew and decided it was ready.

"Lunch is ready Andre," he told the still worried sergeant. He walked to Hogan's quarters/office and knocked.

"Come in," came his CO's response.

He opened the door and stuck his head in. Hogan was lying on his bunk reading.

"Lunch is ready, _mon Colonenel._"

"Good, I'm starved."

They were getting ready to eat when the bottom of the nearest bunk flew up with a loud "Bang" and a ladder was lowered all in the same movement, revealing the hidden entrance to their tunnels. Kinch came climbing up the ladder and stepped out into the room. Hit the hidden switch, causing the ladder to rise and the bunk the lower.

"Hurry up, Kinch, before the stew gets cold," LeBeau said happily.

But Kinch's expression immediately changed the mood. He looked shocked. The black sergeant held a piece of blue paper as if it was a demon and a holy relic at the same time. But what scared LeBeau more was the unshed tears in his eyes. Something was wrong, very wrong.

Without a word he handed the piece of paper to Colonel Hogan. As Hogan read it, LeBeau saw the Colonel pale. He looked up with an expression of shock and then looked back down at the paper in his hands.

"What is wrong, _Colonenel_?" LeBeau asked, unable to take the suspense. An ugly knot was forming in his stomach.

"They destroyed the train," Hogan answered absently.

Silence filled the room, and then Carter spoke.

"What do you mean "they destroyed the train"? What train? You can't mean Newkirk's?" He talked fast, a sure sign that he was starting to get upset.

"He does mean Newkirk's train, Andrew," Kinch answered quietly.

"Is his alright?" Carter asked.

"Carter, what part of "destroyed the train" do you not understand? There were no survivors. Everyone on that train died," Hogan snapped.

"But we had a plan. It was to get Newkirk off the train and bring him back here. What happened? Who destroyed the train? And why would they do that?" Carter was starting to get desperate. LeBeau couldn't help but be sorry for him. The Colonel didn't need to snap at him so.

"Well, not all plans work out the way you want them to," Hogan returned sharply.

"But _who_ blew up the train?"

Kinch stepped in. "Andrew, there was a miscommunication. The Polish Underground thought we wanted Newkirk stopped, as in dead."

"But he can't die, he just _can't_."

"Well, I'm sorry, but he did," Hogan bitterly said.

Carter stood up, "NO!" he shouted, "He's _not_ dead! He can't die! I wouldn't let him!" With that, Carter ran out the door.

After a few seconds of silence, Kinch went to the tunnel entrance muttering something about monitoring the radio, hit the button and disappeared, leaving LeBeau and Hogan alone. But that didn't last long. Hogan got up and walked into his quarters, slamming the door behind him.

LeBeau sat in silence. Pierre gone? He had always been there. He had been there when LeBeau first got here. He had always been there to give Louis a boost whenever he needed it. But now? Now what? What were they going to do?

A sudden feeling of guilt rose in LeBeau, when he realized that Newkirk might still be alive if it weren't for his idea. It was his idea to contact the Underground. It was his fault. It was too much for Louis to handle. He put his head in his hands and started to cry.

* * *

(1) 3:00

(2) 6:30

Note: Here are the dates for when everyone was sent to Stalag 13:

Newkirk, June 13, 1940.

LeBeau, July 30, 1941.

Kinch, May 14, 1942.

Carter, September 28, 1942.

Hogan, November 3, 1942.


	3. The Journey Begins

Note: Sorry it took so long. I was busy with different stuff. But here it is now. Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter 3

The first thing that Newkirk became aware of was that he was cold. His body hurt all over and his head felt like it was about to explode. He couldn't think clearly, his mind was a mess of muddled and confused thoughts, and he was barely aware that he was lying on his stomach with his face in the snow. He laid there for what seemed like eternity, but was actually just a few minutes. That's what pain can do; it makes time seem to go by slower than it really does, because you keep thinking of the pain, of how much agony you're in, of how much you wish it to be gone. You can't think of anything else but that…you might try to push it aside, but it never goes away, it's always there to remind you just how vulnerable you are. Well, pain certainly was telling Newkirk that he wasn't immortal.

Finally, somewhere in his head, he decided to try to get up. He moved his arms underneath himself and pushed his body up, but pain made sure to tell him that moving was a grave mistake. Agony shot up and down his body, making his head feel like it had just burst open. He let out a cry and fell back down, his face once again buried in the snow. Nothingness took over, and he slipped back into darkness.

* * *

Carter ran. He had never run so fast in his life. He wanted to get away; away from the prison that he had come to call home, from the war that took so many good men—men who deserved more, men who gave their lives for their country, for their families…for freedom.

Freedom.

Carter stopped running as he came to the edge of the camp. The barbed wire stood tall and menacing, daring any of its prisoners to try to escape. _Freedom._ Carter collapsed to his knees, looking at the wire. Breathing hard, he stared at it. He wanted to blame it for keeping him from his freedom, but he couldn't. He could have gone home a long time ago, if he'd wanted to; he could have turned down Hogan's offer to join his team and help other men get back home. He could've, but he didn't, because he knew then that this was what he was suppose to do, this was where he was suppose to be. But now, he wanted nothing more than to just go home. _Home. Freedom. Safety._ Those words were screaming in his head. Home was where you were safe, where you were free! Free from the cruelty of men; safe from the dangers of life.

Carter had lived his whole childhood in Bullfrog, North Dakota. It was a town so small that you knew everyone who lived there. The most tragic thing that had ever happened to Andrew was when he was twelve: his dog, Charlie, died. He remembered crying for days after that. He got over it though, and even in his adulthood, no one ever died. All four of his grandparents were still alive, to this day. Life was good; he had applied to medical school and was going to ask Mary Jane to marry him. But then the war came, and he was drafted. He was assigned to a bombing crew and it didn't take long for him to get shot down and captured. He was then sent to Stalag 13, where he met the men who he came to think of as part of his family: LeBeau, Kinch, and…Newkirk.

He looked away from the wire and noticed that some of the guards and prisoners were giving him funny looks, but he didn't care. He shifted off his knees to a sitting position, and crossed his legs, staring down at the dirt in front of him.

He couldn't believe it. He just couldn't wrap his mind around the fact that Newkirk wasn't going to come back. Who would perform magic tricks when things were slow? Who was going to tease LeBeau's cooking? Who was going keep Kinch company when he was down in the tunnel? Who was going poke holes in all of the Colonel's plans, forcing him to be better?

Tears began to push their way to Carter's eyes. Who was going to do all that? Who was going to look after _him_? Who was going to make sure he did things right? Who? No one. No one could do all those things the way that Peter did them. No one could fill the emptiness that Andrew was feeling now. Darn this war! If it had never existed, he wouldn't have ever met Peter, or have had to face the pain of losing him.

Carter put his head in his hands and mourned the loss of his friend, Corporal Peter Newkirk.

* * *

Kinch sat at the radio, staring at the equipment, but not really seeing it. He was lost in thought, remembering…

_May 19, 1942_

Kinch sat on his bottom bunk. He had been at Stalag 13 for five days, and had kept to himself the whole time. He saw the looks that some of the men gave him; the look of racial hate, a look he was all too familiar with. He had been the only black man back on the base, and for a whole year, he'd had to put up with people insulting him, calling him 'Nigger' or 'Brownie'. It had gotten to the point where Kinch couldn't tell who the enemy really was, with all the talk of him being 'inferior' and 'different'. Kinch had learned a long time ago to shut up and take it, that there was no use in fighting something that you couldn't win. So, he put up with it. The other men teased him all the more, saying that he was weak and afraid, but thankfully, not everyone was like that. His commanding officer didn't care what color you were as long as you got the job done. That was probably the only reason that Kinch had reached the rank of sergeant.

For five days, Kinch watched the other men; he found that you could learn a lot about someone very quickly that way. The two people that he liked observing the most were a small Frenchman named LeBeau and a cocky RAF corporal named Newkirk. They made an odd pair, and Kinch couldn't help but wonder what it was that brought them together. It was obvious that they were good friends; they practically did everything together. So far, Kinch found out that LeBeau used to be a chief, and was the oldest out of three girls and a baby brother. Newkirk, on the other hand, had only his little sister, and had traveled with the circus for a good portion of his life.

Today, they were sitting at the table together. The Red Cross packages had come that day; Kinch didn't get one, since his file hadn't reached the Red Cross yet, so he sat there and watched all the other men open theirs. He felt alone…but he was used to feeling alone.

It was then that Newkirk got up from the table. Carrying his Red Cross package, he walked over to Kinch. "'Ello, mate, I couldn't 'elp but notice you didn't get a bundle. Why's that?"

"I was signed up too late," was all Kinch said. He didn't really want to talk to anyone. He wasn't in a very good mood from watching everyone else tear their packages apart while he sat on his bunk empty-handed.

"That's a shame. Would you like somethin' from mine?"

Kinch looked up in surprise. "You mean that you would share your Red Cross package with me, a total stranger and a…" he hesitated. "A black man?"

"Wot's wrong wif that?"

"Nothing, it's just…not normal."

"Who said anythin' about bein' normal?" Newkirk said, with a smile.

Kinch smiled too. "No one, I guess."

"Why don't you come over and sit wif me and Louie. I'm sure 'e won't mind sharin' wif ya, too." As he finished his sentence, he looked over at the Frenchman. LeBeau smiled and nodded; he motioned with his hand for Kinch to come and sit on the bench next to him.

"Okay," Kinch said. He got up from his bunk and walked over to the table with Newkirk. When they were seated, with Kinch beside LeBeau and Newkirk across from them, they began to divide up the two Red Cross packages evenly among the three of them. As they did so, they talked. Kinch couldn't help but be happy; he had made friends! And that is a good reason to be happy.

_Present_

Kinch couldn't hold the tears back any longer…he let his drops of grief run down his face. Newkirk had been kind to him even when they were perfect strangers. That was something that he hadn't been used to, at least not from a white man.

He looked over to the section of the room where the sewing equipment was kept, to the racks of German uniforms and civilian clothes. Next to it stood the shelf where Newkirk kept his supplies: different types of fabric, thread, needles, and his measuring tape. Kinch remembered all the hours that he and Newkirk had spent down here together…Newkirk with his tailoring, and Kinch with his radio.

Now with Peter gone, Kinch knew that he was going to be very lonely down here in the tunnel. And _that_ made him cry all the harder.

* * *

Hogan could hear LeBeau sobbing in the common room outside his quarters. A twinge of pity poked its way through Hogan's anger. Newkirk's death was a great blow to all of them, and Hogan's anger flared up again once he thought of how this came to happen. If that stupid Polish Underground hadn't killed Newkirk, and had instead saved him like they were supposed to, Hogan and his men wouldn't be going through this right now.

Robert stopped his pacing long enough to slam his fist on the desk. He wanted nothing more than to storm over to the Underground's hideout and demand an explanation, before beating the living daylights out of whoever's fault this was.

He began pacing again. How could this happen? Of all the possible outcomes, of everything that could have possibly happened, why did it have to be _this_?

_It's my fault._ The thought hit him like a punch in the gut, and left him feeling sick. _I should've been able to save him! It's my fault he's dead. I should've been able to protect him. I failed…_

Robert sat down slowly on his desk chair. He had never failed before…at least not like this. Sure, he may not always have been able to complete a mission or gather the information that London needed, but he had never lost a man. Never. There was always a first time for everything, right? Hogan desperately hoped that was the _last_ time that something like this would ever happen to him. He couldn't stand the thought of losing another man, because this, right here, was torture.

* * *

When Newkirk woke up again, he heard the birds. They were singing merrily as pain made its presence known to him once again. With a groan, he lifted his head and opened his eyes to look around. He was still lying on his stomach in the snow…he was cold and wet, and his chest felt like it had been run over by a truck.

He looked around as much as he could. The sun was out, and it appeared to have snowed last night. There was more snow then Newkirk remembered seeing before he had jumped, but then again, how would he know, it had been dark then. But he did notice that there was about an inch of snow that had settled on his body.

He forced himself to a kneeling position, despite the agony that had exploded in his chest. Breathing hard, he looked around some more, and found that he was in a large field. About twenty yards behind him was the railroad and the train. Newkirk gawked at the scene of broken glass and twisted metal. By just looking at it, he could tell that it was the work of sabotage and that no one had survived…except for him. He realized just how lucky he was to have chosen to jump when he did instead of waiting, even for just one more minute.

Suddenly, he remembered Zoeller. Newkirk felt a twinge of sorrow for him, despite the fact that they were enemies. The young man had had his whole life before him, a life that shouldn't have been ruined by this bleeding war. Newkirk thought of Carter. The two young men were so much alike…they both were farm boys before the war. Both had acquired a sense of innocence that was hard to find in adults. Newkirk took comfort in the fact that maybe it was better this way. He didn't want to think about how the German would react to the horrors of war. Maybe it was better that Zoeller had died innocent. Yes, it was.

After that thought, Newkirk looked around himself again. It had to be around noon: the sun shown high above him. He began to make his plan…he had to get back to Stalag 13. He could follow the train tracks back to Hamelburg, and would have to steal food somewhere along the way. Newkirk sighed; he really didn't want to steal from people. The only reason he did it was either because Hogan ordered him to, or because someone else _needed_ him to. When he traveled with the circus before the war, they all called him Robin Hood, because he would steal money from people by picking their pockets whenever business was bad. Life was hard then, but then again, life is hard now.

Newkirk bade his farewell to Zoeller and managed to stand up. It hurt, but he needed to get moving. Every time he made a sudden movement that involved his chest, pain would explode through it. That, plus the fact that it hurt to breathe, told him that he had at least one broken rib, if not more.

As he stumbled along the tracks, he took it slowly because he didn't want to increase the pain in his chest. But he was so cold…his clothes were soaking wet from lying in the snow all night and morning. He knew that if he didn't at least get something dry to wear, he would most likely catch pneumonia. And with all that coughing, he was sure that his chest would be in utter agony.

It was getting dark by the time he had reached the first farm. He watched it for a while, waiting for everyone to go inside. Darkness surrounded him before he thought it was safe for him to sneak into the barn. When he was finally inside, he looked around for some clothes, but didn't find any, so he began to search for something to eat. He found a barrel of potatoes, and once he'd had his fill of spuds, he went to the loft to rest a bit. The hay was comfortable and surprisingly warm. He didn't mean to fall asleep; all he wanted was to get dry and warm, to prevent a cold from coming or worse. He was only going to stay until he was warm enough to move on. But his exhausted body said otherwise, and it didn't take long for him to enter a deep and restful slumber.

* * *

I'd like to thank everyone who commented and helped in the improvement of the chapters I have already posted. I do have a Beta reader now, so that means no more stupid little mistakes.

Another thing, I decided to water down Newkirk's accent just a little. I'm sure that is a relief to some of you who speak only "American". ::wink, wink, grin::


	4. How to Cope

Chapter Four

Newkirk woke to the sound of voices. At first he thought it was time for roll call and that he had slept through Schultz. _Strange, _he thought, _I didn't know you could sleep through ol' Schultzie's bellowin'._ But when he opened his eyes he remembered that he wasn't in Stalag 13. He was in a barn somewhere in Poland. The voices were coming from down below. Newkirk didn't understand them, but he recognized the language to be Polish.

It was morning and the Poles were obviously doing their chores. Then it dawned on Peter that he had fallen asleep. He quietly scolded himself as he began to stealthily explore the loft for a means of escape. There were none. So he went to the most obscure corner and hide in the hay, waiting for night to come.

To say that he didn't like the delay would be a lie. He was quite grateful, because his broken ribs were giving him grief. It hurt to breathe and hurt even more to move. He took off his coat and then his button up shirt. He had received enough broken ribs in the past to know how to treat them. He carefully and tightly wrapped his chest in his button up shirt. When he was satisfied with his handiwork, he put on his coat.

Newkirk waited. The hay provided a perfect hiding spot. No one could see him because he was hiding _in_ the hay and since it _was_ warm and comfortable it made a nice spot to nap and heal. Newkirk frowned. He knew his ribs were going to give him trouble. Maybe he should stay here until he was ready to begin the long journey home. He didn't like the idea of staying in one place for too long, though. He thought about this for the rest of the day. He debating with himself on whether he should wait here to heal from the nearly fatal train wreck or ignore his injury and keep moving. When it was dark and all of the Poles went back to the house and into their respective beds, Newkirk came to a decision. He decided to stay, not just because of his broken ribs but also because he didn't want to get sick. He couldn't ignore the fact that yesterday he woke up soaking wet, due to the snow. He didn't want to chance catching pneumonia or hypothermia or even a cold for that matter. The hay was warm, he could stay until he was sure he wouldn't catch anything and then leave.

He climbed down the ladder to the loft (with much difficulty, I might add) and found that the barrel of spuds was still there. He grabbed a few and climbed back up (again with much difficulty). Once he was in his spot, he ate some of the potatoes. When he was finished, he lied down on the hay and quickly fell asleep.

* * *

It was 0147 hours and Carter was still awake. No matter how hard he tried to fall asleep, he just couldn't. Why? Because Newkirk wasn't there; he wasn't asleep on the bunk above Carter.

Carter rolled over to his side. He had been trying, for the past three nights, to ignore the empty bed above him. The one Peter had always occupied. Newkirk never snored, but Carter could always feel the corporal's weight whenever he would move in his bunk. Now, whenever he shifted his position the top of the bunk bed would sway freely.

Newkirk had always been there. He had always slept in the bunk above Carter. The Englishman had always been there when Carter couldn't get to sleep and need someone to talk to. Newkirk complained a lot, but he would always listen. That's all that really mattered to Carter. All he really needed was to talk and then he would usually be fine after that. Newkirk must have known that. Andrew didn't know how many hours they had spent sitting on Peter's bed just talking about the things that were bothering Carter. It must be a lot.

Carter sighed and sat up. There was no way he was going to get to sleep tonight. Then an idea hit him. It was stupid and probably wouldn't work, but maybe…. Carter crawled out of his bed and climb up onto Newkirk's. He sat there a moment. Then he began to talk.

* * *

LeBeau was awakened by the sound of someone whispering. He smiled, knowing that it was just Pierre and Andre. He rolled over and was about to tell them to go to sleep, when he noticed that there was only one person sitting in Newkirk's bed. Then he remembered. Pierre was dead. Carter was talking to no one.

LeBeau thought about going back to sleep, until he heard quiet sobs coming from the bed that use to be his Pierre's. He didn't want to talk about Newkirk; it made him feel sick every time he did. But Carter needed someone. So LeBeau sat up and quietly jumped down from his bed. He saw Carter turn his head at the soft thud his feet made when he hit the ground. Even though he couldn't see it in the dim light, LeBeau could imagine Andre tear streaked face looking at him as Louis walked over to him.

"Mind if I join you, _mon ami?_" asked LeBeau.

"Uh, sure," Carter replied.

LeBeau easily climbed up to sit next to Carter. After Louis had met Newkirk, the Englishman had shown him a trick to make climbing up to the top of the bunk beds easier for him.

Once he was sitting next to Carter, they sat in silence for a moment. Then Carter asked LeBeau if he used to talk to Newkirk about the things that bothered him.

LeBeau took a deep breath and then answered, "_Oui_, I did. But he would also come and talk to me too."

"Really? What kind of things would bother Newkirk?"

"I remember once, that one of Pierre's close friends from home died." LeBeau still could see the pained look on the Englishman's face when he had told Louis what had happened. That was the only time he had ever seen Newkirk cry.

They sat quietly, each in their own thoughts.

"I wonder if it hurt," Carter asked after a while.

"If what hurt?" LeBeau asked.

"When he died, I wonder if it hurt."

LeBeau looked at Carter in surprise. "Why do you ask that, Andre?"

"Well, I had always hoped that if one of you had to die, that _at least_ it wouldn't hurt."

"I don't think it hurt," LeBeau lied, "It would have happened too fast."

"You think so?" asked Carter.

"_Oui_." In truth, LeBeau suspected that it had hurt very much. But took comfort in the fact that Newkirk wouldn't have suffered _too _long.

Silence passed over them again. They could hear the sounds of the other men sleeping.

"Why did this have to happen?" asked Carter.

A lump formed in LeBeau's throat. "I don't know, Andre. I don't know," he managed to say.

Carter sniffed. "This isn't fair," he said in a weak voice. LeBeau couldn't stand it anymore.

"It's all my fault," LeBeau cried, "If I hadn't had said anything, then Pierre would still alive. It was my idea that killed him. It's my fault. I'm sorry." He put his head in his hands and began to cry.

"What? It's not your fault, Louis."

"Yeah, Carter's right." LeBeau stopped crying and turned to see Kinch get out of bed and walk over to them. "You were just trying to bring Newkirk home, like the rest of us," he continued.

"But if I hadn't had said anything, he would still be alive," LeBeau persisted.

"How do you know that?" asked Kinch, "We don't know if he would still be alive, and even if he was, how long do think he would least on the Russian front? Besides, you couldn't have possibly known that there was going to be a miscommunication."

"But-"

"No "buts", Louis. This isn't your fault. It's no one's fault, just another mistake of this rotten war."

LeBeau knew Kinch was right. How could Louis possibly have known? With a sigh, Louis nodded and wiped the tears from his face. Guilt began to seep away and it was replaced by a deep sadness. There were so many things that LeBeau wished he could have known so he could have prevented them from happening. By then Kinch had joined them on Newkirk's bunk.

"Kinch," Carter said.

"Yeah?"

"Do you think Newkirk's in heaven?"

"I don't know, Carter."

"Gee, I sure hope so."

There was silence once again as the three heroes remembered their fallen friend.

"He was a good man," Kinch said after a while.

"_Oui_, and a good friend," said LeBeau.

Then Carter said, "He was a hero, and not just a hero, he was a _real_ hero! I mean, just think of all the times he saved our lives. Or all the times he kept a mission from going wrong just because he was at the right place at the right time. I remember once when me and him were on a mission and…."

LeBeau and Kinch let him go on and this time they listened. LeBeau began to feel better. The sadness that consumed the tiny party slowly began to drift away. They talked about the experiences they had shared with Newkirk as they sat on the Englishman's bunk. Carter was right again. Newkirk was a hero. Not just a hero, but a _real_ hero.

* * *

Colonel Hogan stood in line for roll call. It was the morning of the fourth day since Newkirk was killed. The past three days had been uneventful. He had radioed London and told them what happened. They, of course, give their condolences and told him to stand by. So far he hadn't heard a word from London and suspected that that was on purposes. This was the first time something like this had happened and they were giving Hogan and his men some space. Hogan was very grateful for that too. He could tell that his men needed the time to cope with it all.

It hurt Hogan to see his men suffer so. Carter had barely said a word since he came back after running off when they had gotten word of their friend's death. Hogan said he was sorry for snapping at him, but that didn't change his behavior. LeBeau acted as if something was eating him up inside. He never talked about Newkirk and whenever someone else did, he would excuse himself saying he had something he needed to do and leave. Kinch didn't change much, except that he seemed to be little hesitant to go down in the tunnel. Hogan wondered if it was because of all the time Kinch and Newkirk spent in the tunnel together and that too many things reminded the sergeant of the Englishman. Hogan tried to think of some way to ease their pain. But this time, he couldn't think of anything.

This morning was different, though. His men seemed more themselves. They teased Schultz and began to confuse him when he tried to he counted them and from the exasperated growl the fat German gave them, they were doing a good job at it.

When Klink came out yelling, "Repooooort," Schultz gave them an irritated look and turned to his Kommandant.

"_Herr Kommandant_, all present and accounted for, with the exception of Corporal Newkirk, of course."

"Very good Schultz," Klink stepped up closer to the men in formation, "Gentlemen, I inform you that the search for the Englander is going very well and it won't be long before he will again join you in morning roll call."

A big round of "boos" came up from the men and to Hogan's surprise, Kinch, Carter, and LeBeau joined in.

"You'll never catch him, Fritz baby!" shouted Carter.

"_Oui_, he's half way to England by now," put in LeBeau.

"Yeah, blame it on German inefficiency," said Kinch.

Everyone laughed. Not because the joke was funny but because they knew it annoyed Klink even more.

"Silence!" ordered Klink, "We _will_ find him!"

"When the war's over!" someone down the line hollered.

Everyone laughed again. Hogan couldn't get over his men's good mood. They knew that Newkirk really didn't escape and that he wasn't on his way to jolly old England. He wondered what came over his men.

Klink gave his famous "mmmmph" and headed back to his office yelling "Dismisssssed!" Everyone began filling back into the barracks.

"Colonel Hogan," Schultz called.

"Yeah, Schultz?"

"I couldn't help but notice what a good mood the boys are in. It is nice to have them back to normal. But may I ask; what was it that made them so sad?"

Thinking fast, Hogan replied, "Home, Schultz. After Newkirk escaped they began to think about home again. I guess they just got homesick."

"Aw, that's terrible. If there is anything I can do to help, please let me know. I hate to see them so down."

Hogan smiled, "Thanks, Schultz. But I think it's over now. As you saw, the men are happy for Newkirk."

"_Ja,_ I saw it," Schultz chuckled, "They gave the _Kommandant_ a hard time."

"Yes, they did. Hey, Schultz, I'm going to go into the barracks now. It's too cold out here."

With that, they parted. Hogan went into the barracks and was immediately met with a delicious aroma. He saw LeBeau standing at their pot-belly stove cooking something. Carter and Kinch were doing something at the table. Hogan walked over to the Frenchman.

"What'cha cooking, LeBeau?" Hogan asked. He was getting really confused.

"Fish 'n' Chips," the little corporal replied.

"What?" Hogan was astonished, to say the least. For three days, LeBeau had refused to have anything to do with Newkirk and now the he was making the Englishman's favorite dish.

Then Carter called from over at the table, "Hey, Colonel. I want to show you a magic trick Newkirk showed me."

Hogan turn to see Carter holding three pieces of rope, each one a different size in length. A little stunned, Hogan walked over to the table in the middle of the common room.

"Gee, Colonel. You don't have to look so shocked. I mean, I can learn to do magic tricks just as well as Newkirk." Carter looked a little bit offended. But it soon disappeared when Kinch spoke up.

"It's actually pretty good, sir."

"Well, then show me," said Hogan. Carter was _talking_. Hogan watched as Carter _explained _that he was to make the ropes all the same length. As he did the trick Robert watched in amazement as the young sergeant suddenly polled on the ends of the three ropes and wolla! Hogan stared at the ropes as they dangled from Carter's hand, all the same length.

Applause erupted from Kinch and LeBeau. Hogan couldn't stand it anymore. He had to know what was going on. These men shouldn't be laughing and making jokes. One of their closest friends died and they were going on as if it never happened. This made Hogan mad. Newkirk deserved more than to be forgotten.

"Alright, what's going on here?"

His men stopped and looked at him with confused expressions on their faces.

"What do you mean, sir?" Carter finally asked.

"You know what I mean. How can you act like it never happened?"

Understanding dawned on all their faces. Kinch was the one who spoke next.

"Well, sir, we talked about it last night and we all agree that Newkirk wouldn't have wanted us to grieve his death," then he added with a hit of a smile, "not too much at least."

"Yeah," said Carter, "You know Newkirk, he always did like getting attention."

They all chuckled a little.

Now it was Hogan's turn to have "understanding dawn". His men had moved on. They had accepted the fact that Newkirk was dead and had chosen to remember him, not with grief, but with that bittersweet happiness that you feel when you remember something or someone that you miss, but have the courage to move on. When you remember all the good times you had with someone, for some reason you feel better about them being gone. Maybe it's because you take comfort in the fact that that one person had at least some happiness in life.

For the first time, Hogan realized that this dwelling on the past wasn't helping him. For the first time, his men had taken the lead and he was willing to follow them and their decision. To move on. To forgive, but never forget. And he did. Right then and there he forgave the Polish Underground for messing up. He even forgave himself for not being perfect; though, he still believed that it was his fault. Right then and there, Colonel Hogan proved himself, once again, to be a bigger man than most. He moved on.

"Is something wrong, _mon Colonenel_?" asked LeBeau, breaking Hogan out of his reveries.

"No, LeBeau, nothing's wrong."

LeBeau nodded and turned back to his cooking. Carter was practicing his magic trick and Kinch was watching him.

"That was a good magic trick, Carter," Hogan said after a while.

"Thanks, sir. You really think it was good?"

"Of course I do. Newkirk couldn't have done it better."

Carter blushed. Then after think a moment, Hogan could see the light bulb go off in Carter's eyes.

"Hey, I just had an idea, what if we made today a memorial day? You know, in memory of Newkirk. Every year, on today, we can throw a big party or something to remember him. LeBeau could bake a cake and I could make some fireworks and we could sing some of Newkirk's favorite songs and-"

"Carter," interrupted Hogan.

"Uh, sorry Colonel, I guess it was kind of a stupid idea," Carter said, sheepishly.

"Actually, I think it's a good idea."

"You do?" asked Carter.

"Sure," said Kinch, "and when the war's over we can go and visit that circus Newkirk spent half his life traveling with."

"Good idea, Kinch," said Hogan, "I've always wanted to meet his sister Mavis. What do you think LeBeau?"

LeBeau looked hesitant. "I don't know, _mon Colonenel_. I don't think we should have a party on the day Newkirk died."

"Why not?" asked Carter.

"Because it'd be like celebrating Pierre's death," LeBeau answered.

"Well, then why do we have receptions at funerals?" asked Carter, "It's not to celebrate the fact that someone died, but the fact that they lived. And maybe we don't have to have big party, but we should do something. Something that would make us all laugh, because Peter always wanted us to laugh. He didn't want us to be sad and I agree with him. We should celebrate because we had the opportunity to know him. Because he lived, Louis, not because he died, but because he lived."

Everyone looked at Carter in surprise. Carter turned bright red when he realized his mouth went off again. But Hogan couldn't have been more proud. Carter, of all people, understood more about death than they did. He was the one who understood the meaning of "Remembering".

So it was decided. February 26, would be Newkirk's Memorial Day.

* * *

Note: The magic trick that Carter gave to Hogan actually is a magic trick. I don't the name of it, but it's a rope trick, obviously. The reason I know it is real, is because it's one of the few magic tricks I know.

Also, I don't think that Memorial Day existed before World War Two.


	5. Major Trouble

Chapter 5

Kinch leaned against the wall of Barracks 2, thinking about last night's party that they'd held in honor of Newkirk. It was just the Colonel, Kinch, LeBeau, Carter, and some wine, but they had fun; for the whole time, they did imitations of famous people and told jokes.

Kinch smiled when he remembered Carter's attempted imitation of Bob Hope. It didn't work, but it was still funny. Then Kinch and Carter together did an imitation of Laurel and Hardy. Kinch was Ollie, of course, and Carter was Stanly. When it was LeBeau's turn, he imitated Napoleon Bonaparte; he stuck his hand in his coat, mocking that famous painting of the French dictator. When Kinch asked him why he always had his hand in his coat, LeBeau/Bonaparte replied, "Well, you see, one day I had in itch right here, and I stuck my hand in to scratch it, but I had forgotten that I had peanut butter and jelly all over my hand and so it got stuck there." Everyone laughed. LeBeau was always making fun of foreign food…foreign to _him_, at least. Then, to the men's surprise, the Colonel joined in. He gave a good impersonation of Jack Benny. He got the "Well!" down perfect. All in all, it was a great night.

Kinch was pulled out of his reminiscing when a staff car pulled came through the gates. He watched as a familiar small Gestapo major climbed out and stormed to Klink's office. _Hochstetter, _thought Kinch, _What's he doing here? I better tell the Colonel_.

Kinch went inside the barracks. He didn't see the Colonel in the common room, so he headed to Hogan's office and knocked. When he heard the muffled 'come in', he opened the door and found Colonel Hogan sitting at his desk.

"What is it, Kinch?"

"Hochstetter just went into Klink's office," Kinch answered.

"Hochstetter? What could _he_ possibly want?" They quickly set up the 'coffee pot', and the voices of Klink and the Gestapo Major filled the room.

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"Klink!" Hochstetter yelled.

"But Major, you can't possibly suspect that a _prisoner_ would be responsible for something like that," Klink giggled nervously. There was something about the major that always scared Klink, and it wasn't just the Gestapo uniform, although that _did_ help.

"I suspect everything! Now five days ago, a cannon factory vas blown up and on that _same_ day, von of your prisoners escaped, and it just so happens that the prisoner vas von of Hogan's men. I am going to find out vhat happened, Klink, and I don't think you vill be too happy vith vhat I find."

Klink gulped. "But Major Hochstetter, Newkirk a spy? That's utterly fantastic."

"As impossible as it sounds, I intended to get the bottom of this, and vhen I do, I think I'll find Hogan behind everything."

"Hogan? Ha, ha, Major, don't you think it's a little early for schnapps?"

Hochstetter slammed his hands on the desk and leaned in, making Klink shrink in his chair. "Klink," he growled, "Get Hogan here…_now_!"

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Hogan unplugged the 'coffee pot', and Kinch put it away.

"Okay, we have to act, and _fast_," Hogan said quickly, "Kinch, go down in the tunnel and get Newkirk's jacket. I want you to make it look like it was torn up by a wild animal, ask LeBeau for red food dye for the blood. After you do that, go out the emergency exit and put it somewhere, kind of hide it somewhat so it won't seem too strange that it was overlooked—"

Just then, they heard Schultz come into the common room. They both looked at the closed door.

"Hey, Cockroach, where is Colonel Hogan?"

"He's in his office."

"Colonel Hogan!"

Hogan looked back at Kinch. "Make sure one of the guards find it and make it fast. I'll try to stall Hochstetter as—"

The door opened, interrupting Hogan. He looked at Kinch. The black man nodded and left.

Hogan felt a little relived. He knew that Kinch would make sure it was done.

"Colonel Hogan, Major Hochstetter wants you."

"Wants me, Schultz? What for?"

"I don't know. All I know is that if you don't hurry, he'll tear the camp apart until he finds you. He is very angry!"

"What else is new? Okay, Schultz, I'll go and see what the major wants, but I have a funny feeling that I'm walking right into a lion's den…"

As they walked into the common room, Hogan noticed that both Kinch and LeBeau weren't there. _Good, _he thought,_ the sooner the Germans find the jacket, the less time I have to stall._

When they reached their destination, what Hogan saw didn't surprise him one bit. Hochstetter was pacing the office and Klink was cowering in his chair. Once the Gestapo major saw Hogan, he stopped pacing.

"Ah, there you are. Come in, Hogan. Schultz, that vill be all."

"_Jahowl, Herr _Major." Schultz left, shutting the door behind him.

"You wanted to see me, Major?" asked Hogan. He tried his best to seem as innocent as possible.

"Yes, Hogan, I did. You, no doubt, are avare that von of your men has escaped."

"You interrupted me in the middle of a good book just to tell me _that_?"

"You, no doubt, are also avare that on the same day your man escaped, a cannon factory vas destroyed."

"Really? Is that was that was? We thought that you were putting on a firework show."

Hochstetter smiled and chuckled to himself. That made Hogan nervous. Did Hochstetter know something? Butterflies started to take shape in Hogan's stomach. But he kept his cool, making sure to show nothing that would give him away. Maybe the major was just playing one of his twisted games. That must be it.

"Tell me, Hogan, how did he do it?" Hochstetter asked.

"Who do what?"

"Your man, Corporal Newkirk. How did he sabotage the factory?"

"Newkirk? Ha, that's a laugh."

"You think that is funny?"

"Of course, you think Newkirk sabotaged a cannon factory?"

Klink spoke up for the first time. "You know, Major, he does have a point. After all, how could the Englander get in? My guards were guarding all the entrances."

"Klink, I did not ask for your opinion," Hochstetter snapped.

While the other two were talking, Hogan looked at his watch. Five minutes had passed since he had left his office. He looked out the window. _Come on, Kinch._

"Hogan!" Robert looked at the small major. Hochstetter face was red with anger. "Hogan, you vill tell me how the Englander got out of camp and how he got in the factory."

"I can tell you how he got _out_ of camp, but I don't know how he got _into _the factory."

"Hogan you said you didn't know how he got out of camp," Klink said.

"That's because I didn't. But Carter told me that Newkirk hid in the laundry truck."

"You are lying!" shouted Hochstetter, "The Englander was working for you! It was he who destroyed the factory! You are both spies!"

"What? Me a spy? You've got to be kidding." _Come on, come on. I can't stall much longer._

"Guards!" Two Gestapo corporals came in. Hochstetter pointed at Hogan, "Arrest this man!" he ordered.

Without hesitation, the two guards grabbed Hogan and began to drag him out of the room.

"Major Hochstetter!" Klink said, while getting up from his chair, "Might I remind you that Colonel Hogan is still one of _my_ prisoners. Therefore you have no right to take him away."

Everyone stopped. They all stared at the bald Kommandant in surprise. Hogan and the guards were in the doorway; Hochstetter was still standing by the desk. Klink was actually standing up to Hochstetter. _Will wonders never cease?_ Hogan thought.

"Vhat?" was all the stunned Major could say. Hogan knew that the Gestapo man thought he had Klink cowed. After all, Klink had stood up to the major only a handful of times, and none of them were in the recent past.

"I said you can't take him," Klink said again, but with a little less resolve. Hogan inwardly sighed. He knew it wouldn't have lasted long.

Just when Hochstetter was about to say something, Schultz came into the outer office, holding Kinch with one hand and a blue jacket with the other. The fat German pushed right passed Hogan and the two guards, yelling, "_Herr Kommandant_! _Herr Kommandant_!"

"Yes, yes, Schultz, what is it? And what is he doing here?" asked Klink, pointing at Kinch.

"Oh, I caught him trying to escape, but _Herr Kommandant_ look what I found—"

"Escape?" Klink shouted. Hogan looked at Kinch. The sergeant shrugged slightly.

"Yes, _Herr Kommandant_, but look what I found when I was bringing Sergeant Kinchloe back to camp." Schultz held up a RAF battle jacket. It was shredded, and there was blood all over it.

Klink immediately paled at the sight of the red stains.

"Let me see that!" ordered Hochstetter. He examined the torn fabric, and looked up at Schultz. "Vhere did you find this?"

"I found it not far out of camp," Schultz told him, sounding shocked. "It was in a bush."

"Hmm…there's a lot of blood."

"Who does it belong to?" Hogan asked. He pretended to be worried.

"Corporal P. Newkirk," Hochstetter read.

"Oh Peter," Kinch whispered.

"It appears that a wild animal got him," the major said, not sounding sympathetic at all.

Hogan gave his best look of devastation. "No, he was supposed to make it. He's supposed to be on his way to England!" Hogan leaned against the doorframe. "He was supposed to make it home," he whispered. It wasn't all that hard to act sad, because the emotion was there. Newkirk _was_ dead.

Kinch sat down heavily in the chair that he had been standing next to and buried his face into his hands. Hogan heard a quiet sniff come from Schultz.

Hogan stared at the floor, but he could sense Hochstetter watching him closely, waiting for him to make the slightest mistake, and Hogan was determined not to make any.

"This is a trick!" Hochstetter shouted.

Hogan looked up at the major. "You think I would joke about something like this?" he asked.

"To protect your man, _yes_."

"Well, I tell you now that I wish this _were_ all a hoax."

"Bah!" Hochstetter threw the jacket on the floor and stomped out of the office, followed by his two guards.

Silence consumed the room. They all heard the sound of the Gestapo staff car start and drive away.

"Newkirk is dead?" Schultz asked. His voice was pleading, asking Hogan to say, "No, this is all just a joke. Sure got Hochstetter didn't we?"

But that wasn't Hogan's answer. "I'm afraid so, Schultz. Come on, Kinch, let's go tell the others."

The two American soldiers walked out of the Kommandantur's office.

"That was a close one," Kinch commented when they were about halfway to the barracks.

"Yeah, let's hope that's the last we hear from Hochstetter about the matter."

"You think he bought it, Colonel?"

"I don't know. But until we know for certain, we'll all be on red alert."

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Newkirk was sitting in the loft, listening to the Polish children play outside the barn. He had been in there for five days, and his chest was already feeling much better. He must have misjudged the extent of the damage…if he _did_ have a broken rib, then it was healing much faster than it was suppose to. Maybe it had been just cracked and not broken. Whatever it was, Newkirk was very grateful for the turn of events. With his chest feeling better, he decided to leave tonight.

The proceedings of the day were much the same as the others. The children would do their chores, which entailed caring for the animals, and then they'd play for the rest of the day. The older men would work all day in the fields, and the women would do the laundry and look after the smallest child. Newkirk suspected that they were all family. There were three elderly Poles, six men and women who looked in their thirties and forties, two in their twenties, and nine who were teens and younger. Newkirk wondered if this was what Carter's life was like before the war on his family's farm.

Night came, and all the Poles went into the house.

Newkirk tightened the makeshift bandage around his chest. It may have been feeling better, but it still hurt. He climbed down the ladder in the dark, but Newkirk knew exactly were to go. He crept over to the barrel of potatoes and filled his pockets, before to the back of the barn and sliding out the back door.

The night air was cold, but the heavy, winter coat he had been issued kept the chill at bay. Newkirk began to make his way back to the railroad…by now, the Poles would have cleared most of the damaged train away.

It didn't take too long to find the train tracks; they weren't far from the farm. Newkirk looked up and down the track. He remembered that the farm was on his left when he found it, so that meant he needed to go left.

He took a slow, deep breath, and started to walk along the tracks.

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Notes: For all you who don't know, Bob Hope and Jack Benny were American comedians. In the forties, they both had their own radio shows although later, in the sixties, they both got their own TV shows. Jack Benny was famous for saying "Well!" when he was offended.

Most of you, I'm sure, already know Laurel and Hardy. But for those who don't, they were comedians and were in a lot of motion pictures together. Their humor was more on the lines of slapstick.

Napoleon Bonaparte was a famous French dictator. But you all should know that, right? No falling asleep through history class!

And just out of curiousity, tell me if I got Hochstetter down right.


	6. Hans

Chapter 6

Newkirk sat under a tree, munching on a piece of bread. It had been three weeks since the train wreck, and he had finally made it out of Poland and into Germany, much to his relief. He hated not knowing what people were saying.

As he sat there, Newkirk reflected on the last three weeks.

He still couldn't remember much of the actual wreck. He remembered a flash of light and the sensation of flying, but that was it. He counted himself lucky at having only received a couple of cracked ribs. He was glad that he had stayed at that farm for a few days. The journey so for had been hard enough, he couldn't imagine how much harder it would have been if his chest felt like it was going to explode at every step. He had pushed himself hard, stopping only when he felt like he would drop dead from exhaustion, and came to the first city when his spud supply was almost out. This time, he was able to find some cheese and bread, which was a nice change after eating potatoes for a week and a half. He didn't stay long, just found some food and moved on.

The cheese was gone by the third day, and he ate the last of the bread on the fifth. He had been walking for two days without food when he finally came to the next town. He stayed there for the night, gathering as much food as he could find. He also found a small sack to put it all in. In the morning, he left.

It was hard. He was almost always hungry and most of the time he could hardly keep his eyes opened. But he had to keep moving…he had to get home; his friends needed him. He had to get back to Stalag 13 as fast as possible. That's why he barely ever slept, and why he ignored his practically empty stomach. That's why he kept going.

Now he was here in Germany. It was March, and he had been following the train tracks for 24 days. The air was crisp and the sun was playing peek-a-boo at him from behind the clouds. It was a wonderful day. Newkirk could hear the sounds of children playing from the nearby farm.

He was enjoying the peaceful scene when he heard a small sniff coming from his left. All sense of safety gone, Newkirk quickly turned his head to see who it was that intruded his solitude. He was prepared to make a run for it, knowing full well that in his current state, he probably looked more like a deserter on his way out of Germany, then anything else. There standing to his left was a boy. He looked about ten. He had curly blond hair and baby blue eyes, and was looking at Newkirk with a curious expression on his face. Newkirk relaxed a little, but only a little.

"_Who are you?"_ he asked Newkirk in his native language.

Peter didn't know what to do. He couldn't tell the little boy the truth, and yet he couldn't think of a believable lie to tell him, either. But to Newkirk's surprise, he didn't have to.

"_Are you an imaginary being?"_ asked the little boy, as he cocked his head in curiosity.

"_Uh, yes. Yes, I am,"_ Newkirk replied.

"_Really? My big brother told me about you. He said that if you caught one, then he had to give you one wish,"_ said the German, his face filled with awe and boyish excitement and something that looked like mischief.

Then, without warning, he lunged at Newkirk, grabbing his arm. Newkirk, who was quite shocked, tried to pry the boy off him, but the boy's iron grip was unbreakable, and since Newkirk was a _lot_ weaker from lack of food, the German boy won the small battle.

For a few moments, neither said anything. Newkirk was too out of breath and the boy was too tense. Then the German spoke.

"_Do you give up?"_

Newkirk nodded. He was embarrassed at the fact that a ten-year-old boy had managed to subdue him.

"_Good, that means you have to grant my wish," _the boy said.

_Oh, blimey. Wot am I goin' to do if I _can't _grant it?_ Newkirk thought, but he said, _"What is your wish?"_ He hoped it was something that would be easy and wouldn't take up too much time.

The little boy immediately became serious. _"I want you to bring my big brother back."_

Newkirk looked at the boy. He wasn't expecting _that_.

"_Where is he?" _Newkirk asked him.

"_He's dead."_

Peter stared at the boy. Here he was, sitting under a tree with a ten-year-old German boy clinging to his arm, wanting him to bring his brother back from the dead. The situation might have struck him as funny if it weren't for the expression on the boy's face.

Newkirk sighed. _"I can't."_

"_But you're an imaginary being and I captured you and now you have to give me my wish,"_ the boy said. His eyes were beginning to tear up.

_This bleedin' war… "I'm sorry. But I can't bring people back to life."_

Like the rain on a window, tears rolled down the cheeks of the little German boy.

"_I'm sorry,"_ Newkirk repeated and looked away. Oh, how he hated this war. After a pause, he asked, _"What was your brother's name?"_

The boy sniffed and wiped his nose with his sleeve. _"Clovis,"_ he answered.

Clovis?Newkirk looked back at the boy, then he asked, _"And what's your name?"_

"_Hans."_

"_What about your last name?"_

"_Zoeller."_

Then it was true. This was Clovis Zoeller's younger brother. A twinge of sadness surfaced. One thing that hurt Newkirk more than anything about this war was the fact that so many innocent people died. He felt sorry for Hans.

"_What was your brother like?"_

"_What was Clovis like? He was the best big brother anyone could have. He played with me and looked after me. Whenever I got scared he would tell me stories. One of them was about imaginary beings, like you. That's how I knew you were one. Because you have green eyes, just as he said you would have. He was good at farming and he would never hurt anything in his whole life."_

As Hans rambled on, Newkirk couldn't help but smile. Hans was a lot like Clovis. They had the same blue eyes and blond hair, although, Hans' was curly unlike his older brother's. They also could talk your ears off.

After a while Hans became silent. They sat there together under the tree in silence. Then Hans let go of Newkirk's arm with a sigh.

"_I wish I would grow up to be just like him,"_ he said.

That gave Newkirk an idea. _"Then you will."_

Hans looked up at Newkirk in confusion.

"_I'm an imaginary being, right?" _Newkirk told the little boy. _"And even though I can't bring people back from the dead, I can grant your wish to become like your brother. But this wish can only take you part of the way. If you want to be like Clovis, you also have to work hard and be the brother that Clovis was to your siblings."_

Hans looked down as if thinking it over. Then a big smile spread across his face. He looked up at Newkirk and then (quite to Peter's surprise) gave him a big hug.

"_Thank you!"_ Hans nearly shouted. Then he let go of Newkirk and sprang to his feet. _"I have to tell mother!"_ he yelled as he ran off.

Newkirk sat there staring, open mouthed and wide-eyed, in the direction that Hans had disappeared. Then a grin slowly made its way to his his head, he got up, grabbed his bag, and walked away.

Later that night, Newkirk came to a small town. It wasn't hard to stay out of sight. There was hardly anyone on the streets, probably because of the cold.

The streets were laden with a thick blanket of snow. Frost blurred the windows, acting as a cover for what went on behind them. The streetlights provided the only light except for an occasional lighted window, signifying a late night's work or a restless sleeper.

As he wandered in and out of the streets, he came to pub. Judging from the light and the noise coming from inside, the bar was still open. Resisting the urge to go in and warm himself with bit of schnapps, Newkirk walked past. Just as he did, someone walked out of the bar.

Newkirk just kept walking, hoping to not draw too much attention. But he wasn't that lucky.

"_Hey you!"_ the man called out to him in German.

Newkirk stopped and slowly turned around. He didn't want to make the German suspicious, and running away wouldn't accomplish that.

The man walked up to Newkirk with a cigarette sticking out of his mouth. _"Do you have a light, friend?"_

Newkirk tried not to show his relief. _"No, I'm sorry."_

The German looked disappointed. Newkirk turned to walk away, when a hand on his shoulder stopped him.

"_Wait, you are Heer, right? I was wondering if you know a friend of mine. His name is-" _the man trailed off. He looked at Newkirk more closely and Newkirk heart rate immediately went up.

"_You don't look like any solider I've ever seen," _the man stated suspiciously._ "When was the last time you shaved?"_

Newkirk refrained from the urge to rub his hand across the unkempt beard he had grown during the last month.

"_And when was the last time you washed your hands?"_ the German asked, looking at Newkirk's right hand which was fidgeting with the strap of the sack he had all of his food in. The man didn't wait for an answer.

"_And your uniform-"_ the man stopped. His eyes went wide and Newkirk saw his face turn a darker shade of red in the light provided by the street lamps. Then, without warning, the German lunged at Newkirk, shouting, _"Traitor!"_

Not expecting that reaction from the German, Newkirk lost his footing and fell backwards with the German man on top of him. The German kept shouting as they struggled. _"Traitor! Coward! Deserter!"_

When Newkirk was finally able to kick the man off him, a group of men had come out of the pub and were making their way over to them. Newkirk bolted into an alley and began running as fast as he could down it. He could hear the German he had fought with still yelling 'traitor' and 'deserter' in his native tongue, as he turned a corner. He could also hear the sound of many angry men in hot pursuit.

As he turned another corner and ran down the alley, Newkirk realized that he had just circled the pub and was heading for the street. He had come about half way down the alley, when the shapes of men appeared in the mouth on the alley and began to run toward him. Newkirk skidded to a stop. He started to look around when his eye caught sight of a fire escape to his left. Nerved with desperation, Newkirk jumped up and caught the railing of the fire escape. He hoisted himself up over the railing, and using whatever strength he had left, began to climb the steps. The stairway gave a jolt as the Germans below yanked the ladder down and climbed up it.

When Newkirk had reached the top, he ran to the other side, and without giving himself time to think twice, he flung himself over the gap between the buildings. Misjudging the distance, his feet hit the side of the building, making him trip and land face first of the roof. He got up quickly and made for the other side, repeating the scenario. Only this time, he land on his feet and executed a faultless roll, to prevent from hurting himself. After being practically raised in a circus, he had acquired a great deal of agility. This wasn't the only time he was thankful for that.

Newkirk ran to the other side of the roof, but this time, the gap was too wide for him to jump. Looking back, he could see that some of the men had managed to make it to the second rooftop. Searching for another way out, he spotted another fire escape. Just as he reached it, he heard a loud _bang_ and felt something fly passed his ear. _Oh, blimey, they've got guns!_ he thought. He jumped down from the roof and on to the fire escape, and instead of going down the stairway, he climb over the railing and climbed down on the outside of the fire escape. Newkirk knew that way was faster from experience. Once he reached the bottom, he ran down the alley, away from the street.

After an hour of running and dodging in and out of alleys, Newkirk was convinced that he had finally evaded the angry mob, and stopped the take a rest. With all the adrenaline gone, Newkirk sat gasping for breath. But he didn't stay long; he needed to get out of the town. Luckily for him, it was small. It didn't take long for him to make it out if the jungle of houses and into the protection of the trees, but even then, he didn't stop until he was about twenty miles away from town. Once he was a safe distance away, he found a hollow log that was big enough for him to fit in. Even though it was coming close to dawn, he settled himself inside, making sure not to squish his food, and closed his eyes. Sleep came quickly, and soon Newkirk was dreaming about his beloved England; about the circus and Mavis and about the group of men waiting for him at Stalag 13; about peace and happiness…about home.

Author's notes: As some of you may not know, Wehrmacht is actually the name of the whole German _military_, NOT just the German army. Heer is the name of the German army. So when the man asked Newkirk: _"Wait, you are Heer, right?"_ He was asking if Newkirk was in the army branch of the military.

Thanks for reading.


	7. The Letter

Chapter 7

It had been hard to convince Hochstetter that Newkirk really was dead, but after a month, the Gestapo major finally gave up.

The funeral was short, due to the fact that they didn't have anything to bury. All of the prisoners came to pay their respects; even those who didn't know him personally were somber. This incident had reminded the men of reality; they were in prison. It was hard, and, at times, depressing.

For the next week, morale was low. No one felt much like playing games, especially poker. Most of the men stayed in the barracks or ambled around the compound, each buried in their own thoughts. Things like this didn't happen very often, and even then, no one had ever died…well, trying to escape, that is, but that was mostly because no one ever _did_ try. When Hogan came, he had ordered a 'no escape' policy, and ever since then, strange things had been happening. Things like a tank magically emerging from the rec hall and scaring a general silly, or an airplane suddenly disappearing from inside the camp, and not to mention all the Germans that came in as honored guests and went out as outraged traitors. But to say it wasn't fun would be a lie. Long ago, the men who didn't know about the operation had decided that it would be best to not ask questions. Those who weren't in the dark would help in any way that they could.

The days came and went, and slowly, but surely, normality came crawling back. After the first week, it was nothing but a bad memory to most, but not to Hogan and his men; they keenly felt the gap that the Englishman had left. Yes, they had accepted it and tried their best to move on, but that didn't mean that it wasn't hard at times.

London had started sending mission assignments again. The Underground had started asking for help…not to mention that Hochstetter was giving them grief. They now found themselves struggling to get used to Newkirk's absence; Hogan had to think up plans that didn't involve picking pockets or cracking safes, LeBeau found himself pilled waist high in fabric, thread, and sewing needles, Kinch had to get used to being alone most of the time, and Carter had to remember not to climb up onto Newkirk's bunk every time he couldn't get to sleep.

After a month and a half, they had gotten somewhat used to things, but they still missed the way that it used to be.

One day, they were all sitting at the table in the common room, discussing the latest mission.

"I wish you could have seen his face, _mon ami_. It was priceless!" LeBeau said to Kinch.

"Yeah, boy, I wish had a picture of it. For a moment I thought his _eyes_ were going to pop out!" Carter exclaimed.

An Underground agent had been captured by the Gestapo, and London ordered them to get him out. Hogan came up with a clever plan, and they not only got the agent out, but kidnapped a Gestapo colonel in the process, and now the two were on their way to London.

"You did good work, fellas," Hogan congratulated his men.

Just then, Schultz came in bellowing, "Lights out! _Schnell, schnell!_"

"Okay, Schultz. Good night, men," Hogan said then turned and walked in to his room.

A chorus of 'good night, sir' rang out as the men of Barracks 2 began to get ready for bed.

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Hogan lay in his bed with his hands behind his head and his ankles crossed, reviewing the latest mission in his head. Yes, it had been a successful mission; everything had gone according to plan…well, everything except the Gestapo colonel. It was just a bonus to the original goal; like a cherry on top of whipped cream. Hogan smiled at the thought. _He did kinda look like a cherry, with his face red with anger all the time. I wonder if he took lessons from Hochstetter?_

That turned his thought pattern to the short major. They hadn't seen him around since he gave up the search for Newkirk. _Newkirk._

Hogan sighed. He sat up and slid quietly off the top bunk. It was dark, of course, but he knew his way around his room. He walked over to his desk and pick up a letter and a coin that was lying on top of it. After turning on the lamp, he opened the letter and began to read it.

_Dear mates,_

_If you're reading this letter, than that means I'm dead and I can only hope that I didn't do something stupid to deserve it._

_I guess this a will of sorts. I prefer to think of it as a 'goodbye' letter. So here we go._

_To the Governor, I want you to have me lucky coin, since you'll need all the luck you can get. It saved me life once. I was helping Malcolm (he was the magician at the circus I traveled with) with an act. I don't know if you've ever heard of it, but it's the one where you get someone to fire a gun at you and you catch the bullet, well, not really, but that's what it looks like. The gun isn't loaded to begin with. But as I was helping him, somehow the empty gun got mixed up with a loaded gun and as we were practicing, the gun went off and hit me right in the heart. If I hadn't put me lucky coin in me chest pocket, I'd be dead now. Keep it safe, and be careful. I can't tell you what an honor it has been to serve under you, sir. I'm proud to have called you my Commanding Officer, and I would follow you to the end of the world if you asked me. I salute you, sir!_

Hogan looked at the coin in his palm, it had a picture of one of England's queens on it. Then he flipped it in the air and caught it.

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In the common room, the sound of men peacefully sleeping was accompanied by the sound of the wind blowing outside. Carter was sitting in his bed trying to figure out one of the many magic rope tricks he had seen Newkirk perform. It wasn't easy in the dark, but there was at least enough light for him to see his hands a little. Ever since the Colonel had found that letter in Newkirk's trunk, Carter had resorted to playing with the ropes that Newkirk had given him in his Will, rather than climbing up on his friend's bunk whenever he couldn't sleep. As his fingers worked the rope, twisting and twining it around itself, Carter recited in his head the part in the letter that Newkirk had dedicated to him.

_To Andrew, I want you to have all me magic tricks. Someone needs to keep everyone entertained. I'm counting on you to make sure that no one gets too bored. Besides, the place could use some living up. Don't be afraid to pull a prank on someone once and a while. Remember when I switched the labels on LeBeau's spices? He was sore for a week, not to mention that everyone got sick after that._

_I know I never told you, but I've always thought of you as me little brother. Thanks for having patience with me and my temper. I never really mean anything I say when I blow me top and I'm sorry for every time I did. I hope you can find it in yourself to forgive me. I hope you live to get out of that ruddy dump and have a long and happy life. Bye._

Of course he forgave Peter. A single tear rolled down Carter's cheek. He couldn't help it. Every time he thought about what Peter said, about being his brother, he cried.

Carter continued playing with the rope. He would figure out how to do the trick. After all, he had a promise to keep; he had to entertain the men of Stalag 13. He promised.

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Not far from where Carter concentrated on the ropes in his hands, LeBeau was lying in his bunk. He lay on his side with his eyes closed, but he wasn't asleep. He was thinking about what he was going to cook for tomorrow, maybe eggs for breakfast and vegetable soup for lunch. He would have to clean the pencil sharpener. That caused LeBeau to think about Newkirk's letter. Pierre had given him the knife he had always carried around with him, which he so fondly called his 'pencil sharpener'. The only time Pierre didn't carry his knife was when he went into town. LeBeau's thoughts went back to the letter and what it contained.

_To Louie, I want to you to have me pencil sharpener. I'm sure you'll find it comes in handy. You can use it for almost anything, from cutting vegetables to sabotaging Klink's car. Keep it sharp and it'll never fail you. I also want to thank you for keeping me from killing meself when we first met. It had been a hard year. As you know, I've never liked being cooped up. Blame it on a life in the circus. We didn't stay in one place for very long…no more than a month or two, than it was pack up and go. You helped me get through that depression I'd found meself in, and I'm grateful for the little boost you gave me. Because of you, I didn't use me pencil sharpener on meself. I don't think I ever told you that you're my best friend. Thanks, little mate._

LeBeau rolled over and slipped his hand under his mattress. His fingers touched the cool surface of metal. The sharpener was safe, and LeBeau was thankful that it didn't have his friend's blood stained on it. He shuddered as he remembered those days that had began their friendship; Pierre had truly been a troubled man. It had taken a month to get through that thick head of his, but LeBeau had been determined to show the Englishman that he wasn't alone. Smiling at the memory of triumph, LeBeau closed his eyes and fall asleep with his hand still touching the only part of his Pierre that he had left.

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Below LeBeau, in his bunk, Kinch was watching Carter play with his magic-trick ropes. The young sergeant was actually getting pretty good at a few of them. Not as good as Newkirk, but he was showing potential. It was too dark to see exactly which trick Carter was trying to do, but Kinch had a pretty good guess. Ever since the letter, he had been constantly telling stories and jokes and performing the tricks he knew. He even pulled a prank on Olsen. Kinch almost laughed out loud when he remembered Olsen storming in the barracks, covered in black soot and demanding that the guilty party make himself known. Newkirk's words had more effect on Carter than the Englishman probably could've ever imagined. Then Kinch began to recall what his friend had said to him in the letter.

_To Kinch, I want you to have me deck of cards. I've kept them as nice as I could, considering. They'll also kept you company in my stead. If you find yourself bored and lonely, just pull out these cards and play a game. It'll help the time by go quicker. I know I've told you this before, but it's something you need to hear over and over again; it doesn't matter what color you are, you're a great man. It doesn't matter if you aren't able to go out and get a piece of the action; you're still just as valuable to the team as anyone else. Look out for the others for me. Make sure they're all in one piece when they go out and when they come in. The Gov'nor is a busy man and doesn't always see the signs. Look after him too. And don't be afraid to do something immature once and while, mate. Surprise people. Thanks for everything._

Kinch was now staring at the bottom of LeBeau's bunk. Newkirk was right; he needed to hear that. Through his whole life, his color mattered. If you were a black man, than you weren't important. You weren't valuable. But then he came here and met Newkirk and LeBeau. They had accepted him in a heartbeat. Those two wouldn't care if you were purple, they still would give you a chance. That brought a memory to mind. Before he could stop himself, a rather loud chuckle escaped his lips. He quickly looked over to Carter hoping that he didn't disturb him, only to find that the sergeant had fallen asleep. Kinch smiled. The memory that caused him such amusement was when Newkirk had dyed one of Schultz's uniforms bright purple, and hid the rest in the tunnel. As long as he lives, Kinch will never forget Klink's reaction when he saw his Sergeant of the Guard wearing a _purple_ _uniform!_ Newkirk, of course, was sent to the cooler for a month and forced to make Schultz a new uniform and to tell where he had hidden the rest of his clothes. Yawning, Kinch rolled over to his side and closed his eyes. He fell asleep with a small grin on his face, and dreamed of good times.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Hogan finished reading the letter while he fingered the coin his hand.

_Gov'nor, I would like everything else to go to Mavis. As for the money, half goes to the team and half goes to her. I've written a separate letter to Mavis, see that she gets that too. And do me a favor? Don't be stupid and get yourselves killed, like me. I want you to go home and grow old like all of you deserve. You're the best group of mates a bloke can have._

_Thank you and take care,_

_Peter_

Hogan folded the letter and set it back in the desk. He studied the coin again. _This thing saved his life. I only wish __I__ could have,_ he thought, sadly. He put it back down on top of the letter, before turning out the lamp and climbing back into bed. Soon he was fast asleep.

Good night Barracks 2.

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The storm was fierce and unforgiving. Newkirk made his way through the woods, looking for suitable shelter. Branches were falling everywhere and the trees swayed violently, threatening to snap at any moment. The lightning was blinding and the thunder was deafening. Newkirk had to find shelter and fast. But the wind and the rain stung his eyes, making it hard to see. The trees didn't help at all in shielding him from the rain and wind. He stumbled about, trying to walk in as straight a line as he possible could, not wanting to lose his course in the storm. If he started going the wrong way, it could cost him days trying to retrace his steps. He had long-since abandoned following the train tracks. He had passed Berlin two days ago and he had seen and studied enough maps to know where to go now. But this storm could be a problem, that is, _if_ he didn't get killed by a falling branch or the tree itself.

As if reading his thoughts, a tree suddenly gave way to the wind and came crashing down. Newkirk barely had enough time to jump out of the way before it hit the ground. Although he had gotten out of the way of the actual tree, one of its branches came down and pinned Newkirk to the ground, knocking the wind out of him. Lightning flashed and thunder rolled. Panic lanced through Newkirk as he found it very hard to breathe. The branch, which happened to be still attached to the trunk of the tree, was too heavy to lift. He was lying on his back with the branch pushing against his stomach. Struggling, twisting, pushing, he desperately tried to free himself while the rain pelted his face. The lightning mocked him for being too slow, and the thunder laughed at him as if he were a mouse in a trap. When his strength failed him, he laid there in the mud, gasping for air before an idea came to him. He brought his hands down to his side and began to dig up the mud, pushing it aside. As he worked, his head started to get fuzzy and he knew that his brain wasn't getting enough oxygen. When he had dug deep enough, he commenced to digging out the mud from underneath himself. Stars were dancing around his vision by the time he had enough space to wriggle out from underneath the branch. Once he was free, he took deep breaths.

The storm had let up a little bit and Newkirk saw nearby what looked very much like a cave. Wondering if what had just happened was a miracle in disguise, Newkirk made his way over to the black hole in the forest. It was indeed a cave.

Before he entered, he looked up. "Blimey, you didn't 'ave to do _that_ to get my attention!" he said to the stormy sky. With that, he entered the cave.

It was dry, and if you went far enough inside, it was warm, too. Newkirk settled himself on the rocky ground, and despite the fact that it was hard and uncomfortable and that he was wet, bruised, covered in mud, and hungry, he soon fall asleep due to pure exhaustion.

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Author's Note: In this chapter I wanted to show how things were turning out at Stalag 13, and the chaos that Newkirk was going through.

I hope you enjoyed it.


	8. Code Books and Fallen Logs

Chapter 8

It was now going on two months since it all happened. Newkirk was walking through the forest on a warm April afternoon. His clothes were worn and stained with mud…not that he cared much for the German uniform; gray wasn't his color, but it was the only thing that kept him from freezing at night. His boots were also wearing out; he had a hole in the heel of his left shoe, and the lace of his right one had broken sometime last week. The sack that held what little food he had was coming apart, and his hair had grown an inch in the past six weeks. Between the beard and mud, his own mother wouldn't have recognized him. He was thin from lack of food and constant travel, his uniform hung loose and his pants were too big now. But his green eyes still held the glint of fortitude; he was determined to make it home. He _would_ make it home…he had to believe he would, otherwise he would lose all hope.

Weary and footsore, he trudged along the forest floor. Ever since he'd been chased by that mob who'd thought he was a deserter—which technically, he was—he had avoided towns and cities, taking what he needed from farms. He still hated stealing from people, but he took some comfort in the fact that he only stole from the rich farmers.

Newkirk climbed over a fallen log that was in his way, which reminded him of that storm he luckily had survived. He shuddered as he remembered being stuck under that tree branch, and was grateful that the storm hadn't 'blown him off course'.

As he walked on, he began to think about Stalag 13. Not for the first time and probably not for the last, Newkirk recalled the first time he had met Carter.

_1942_

_There was tension in the air as the prisoners of Stalag 13 gathered in the compound. There had been a debate on who was the best at soccer, and the Americans had the gall to say that _they_ were. Of course, the English wouldn't stand for that and challenged the Yanks to a football match. That was the reason for the tension as everyone watched the game progress. They cheered and booed as the ball was kicked about. The competition was tough and even the audience was competing to see who could cheer the loudest for their team. So far it was eight to six, with the English winning. Everyone was so into the game that nobody noticed the truck come in through the gates and pull up to the Kommandantur. No one saw the American sergeant hop out and Schultz bring him into the building. No one observed the scared look on the young man's face. Everyone was watching as Newkirk kicked the ball towards the goal only to have Kinch block it. Those rooting for the Yanks let out a loud cheer. "Atta boy, Kinch!" "Keep it up, fella!" "Look out for the tall guy!" And so, the game went on. Soon, it was over. The English had nine points and the Americans had eight. Bets were paid off and there were many handshakes and pats on the back. Newkirk was practically suffocated by LeBeau's fierce hug. It wasn't just English pride that was at stake. Those Yanks said they could beat _anyone_. All the Europeans thoroughly enjoyed watching the American's pride shatter._

_Newkirk and LeBeau walked over to where Kinch was standing._

"_Good show, mate," Newkirk said, extending his hand toward the black man._

_Kinch smiled and took Newkirk's hand. "Yeah, good game."_

"_Wot do ya say we go to the barracks? I don't know 'bout you, mate, but I'm plumb tuckered out."_

_Kinch readily agreed and followed the Englishman to their barracks with LeBeau close behind._

_When they went in, they saw a man sitting at the table, crying. They could tell he was a sergeant from the US Army Air Corps by the insignia on his shoulder. Glancing at the others, Newkirk walked over to him._

"_Wot's the trouble, mate?"_

_The man looked up in surprise. "I, uh, I was just—sorry, I didn't mean to—I mean, I…I…," he trailed off, before looking down at the table._

_Newkirk could tell something was wrong. He looked at LeBeau. "Louie, I think this bloke could use some coffee."_

_LeBeau nodded, and went over to the stove to make some of the requested liquid for the new man._

_In the meantime, Newkirk and Kinch sat down at the table with the new POW._

"_They all died," the man whispered._

"_What?" Kinch asked._

"_Th-the men on m-my plane, they all d-died."_

_So that was it. _Poor sod_, Newkirk thought. "What's your name, chum?" he asked._

"_A-Andrew Carter," the sergeant answered._

"_Where you from, Andrew?" Kinch questioned him gently._

"_Bullfrog, N-North Dakota," came the quite reply._

"_Really? I'm from Detroit," said Kinch, in an attempt to get Carter to open up._

"_I'm from London, meself, though I practically grew up in the circus," Newkirk commented._

_Carter looked up at him with a curious expression. "Th-the circus?"_

Bingo_, thought Newkirk. "Yeah, I worked with the animals when I was a lad, but when I got older I became our magician's attendant, then I became the magician. I learned a whole lotta things while I was there. Wot'd you do before the war, mate?"_

"_I-I worked at a drug store."_

"_I bet you can make one doozy of a milkshake," Kinch said, as a smirk appeared on his face._

"_Well, they _did_ say I made one of the best sodas, back home," Carter stated hesitantly. _

_Newkirk saw that the sergeant was starting to come out of his shell. "I don't doubt it, mate," Newkirk said with a grin._

_LeBeau came over to the table with a mug of black coffee. "Here you go, _mon ami_."_

"_Thanks," Carter took the mug and sipped the hot brew. He made a face that indicated he didn't like the taste. Kinch and Newkirk laughed and LeBeau asked him if it was too hot._

"_No, it's great, but…" Carter started._

"'_But' what?" LeBeau prompted._

_Carter looked at the cup in his hands. "It's kind of bitter."_

"_Mate, this isn't the Riviera. We don't 'ave very many pleasures. But I'll give you some of the sugar I use for me tea." Newkirk got up. He went over to his trunk and opened it. He found the sugar, and there wasn't much left. As he got up, he caught LeBeau staring at him. The Frenchman knew how valuable Newkirk's tea was to him. He patted his little mate on the shoulder as he passed him. _I'll be fine, Louie, _his eyes told him._

"'_Ere ya go, chum."_

"_Thanks," Carter dumped the sugar into the coffee, and stirred it with a spoon that Kinch had handed him. "Gee, you guys are nice. I don't feel as bad anymore. I don't even know your names."_

"Oui_, but that is easy to fix. My name is Louis LeBeau."_

"_I'm James Kinchloe, but you can call me Kinch."_

"_Peter Newkirk."_

Present

Newkirk was brought out of his reminiscing by the sounds of rushing water. He soon came to the source of the sound, and found it to be a river. It looked deep. The current was fast, rushing over the rocks and by the trees as if it were late for something.

Newkirk stared at this obstacle with sudden frustration. Was everything against him? He sighed heavily and commenced to find a way over. He couldn't help but be a little mad. He was hungry and tried and lonely. The last person he had actually talked to was Hans (the mob didn't count) and that was about a month ago. There were times when he had _felt_ alone, when there were still always people around. But this time there really _was_ no one there; he was truly and utterly alone.

It didn't take long to find a way across. Newkirk sighed again, the last time he had tried to cross over a log, it broke on him and he fall into the water. He wasn't too keen on repeating that experience, but with not much of a choice, he climbed onto the fallen tree and stood up. It seemed sturdy, and Newkirk guessed that it hadn't been too long since it had fallen. He began to make his way across, but about half way, his foot slipped. His hand caught one of the branches that were sticking out of the trunk, saving him from plunging into the rapid current. He had no doubt that he would have drowned if he had fallen in. As he climbed back up, the sack's strap broke, causing the bag to fall. Newkirk tried to catch it, almost losing his hold on the branch in the process, but the sack was gone, swept away with the river.

All the frustration and pent-up rage washed over Newkirk as if he had jumped into the river himself. He slammed his fist into the trunk. "No!" he yelled. Climbing back up on top of the log, he looked back at the river. That sack had contained all of his food.

"No!" he yelled again, as he pounded the log with his fists. "No, no, no, no, no, _no_!"

He didn't care if any Germans heard him, he was so mad. He'd been almost killed in a train wreck, he was almost killed for being a deserter, he was almost killed by a falling tree, he was exhausted and hungry and tired of sleeping outside, his feet hurt, his back hurt, and now he had no food. Why was everything against him? Was he not supposed to make it back home? Was he supposed to die out here in the middle of Germany?

Newkirk stopped hitting the tree, suddenly drained of all emotion. He sat there staring at nothing.

"Why?" he whispered. He didn't want to be here. Never in his life had he wanted to go home to England more. He was tired of always being in danger, of always having to be secretive. He wanted to walk through London streets, or stroll across the countryside. He wanted to go back to the circus and see the people he had grown up with. He wanted to hold Mavis and never let go. He wanted to be safe, and not have to worry about what to say and what not to say. He wanted to be _free_.

He _could_ be free…he didn't have to go back. He could just go to England; he knew the route and the codes. He knew who to contact. He could go _home_.

But he wouldn't, not without Colonel Hogan's permission. They didn't deserve that, to not know. They were his mates. He couldn't do that to them.

Sighing, Newkirk stood up and walked off the log. He was tired, and lay down at the foot of the fallen tree. He didn't mind the fact that he was in plain sight, it's not like anyone was out there. He was too emotionally drained to care. As he lay there, he briefly wondered what Mavis was doing, and then along came beautiful oblivion.

Colonel Hogan paced in his office. Klink had just received the new German codebook and had naturally put it in his safe. London wanted it, so Hogan had spent the last hour trying to figure out a way to get it without the assistance of a safecracker. He stopped by the window and looked out, chuckling when he remembered the last time Klink had got a new codebook. In an effort to not get caught, Newkirk had dropped it down a well. Hogan sighed, before resuming his pacing. He knew it was going to be tough without Newkirk's skills…maybe he should radio London and ask for a replacement. But he was getting off track, he had to find a way to get the codebook. Suddenly, an idea came to him, and without a moment's hesitation, he walked out to the common room. His men were sitting at the table drinking coffee and talking together. They turned to look in his direction when he walked out.

"All right, fellas, I've got a plan."

Klink was sitting peacefully at his desk, drinking his tea when Hogan and his men came barging in unannounced.

"All right, I want you to do a good job. I want this office to shine," Hogan began directing his men.

"Hogan, what are you doing?" Klink asked irritably. He was in no mood for Hogan's mind games. He had just finished a whole stack of paper work and didn't want to be disturbed.

"Why, we're going to clean your office, sir. I wanted to make sure it looked nice just in case Burkhalter made a surprise visit," Hogan answered.

If Klink didn't know better, he would have thought the American colonel actually cared. But Klink had known Hogan too long to fall into his trap all that easily. "It was cleaned yesterday. Hogan, get your men out of here this instant!"

"Oh, I guess you haven't heard about Colonel Schreiber then?" Hogan asked.

"What about Colonel Schreiber?" Klink asked. Hogan always seemed to know things before he did.

"I heard that he was sent to the Russian Front because his office was dirty."

Klink sat back in his chair as a motion of disbelief. "Hogan, that's utterly fantastic. They don't send men to the Russian Front because their desk has dust on it!"

"They have to find _some_ reason to send men off to Russia."

Klink opened his mouth to say something, but closed it. Hogan was right. They were short of officers in Russia and would probably do anything to get them there. "Very well, just make sure your men do a good job," he said.

"Don't worry, Kommandant, you won't recognize the place when we're finished." Hogan paused and looked at the safe in the corner, then looked back at Klink, "Sir, you're going to have to open your safe."

"Open my safe, why?" Klink asked. Why on earth would Hogan want him to do that?

"How are we going to clean the inside if it's closed?" Hogan answered.

"My safe is fine the way it is."

"But what if someone needs to use it and sees how dusty it is?"

Sighing, Klink got up and went over to the safe. He looked around to make sure no one could see the dial. Once he was sure no one was looking, he began to dial the combination. Within seconds the safe was open. Clearing everything out of his safe, Klink put it all on his desk.

Suddenly there was a loud crash, which made Klink's heart jump. He looked at the source of the noise to see Carter quickly picking up the pieces of his schnapps bottle.

"I didn't see it! I'm sorry, sir!" Carter stammered.

Klink got up and walked over to the young sergeant. "_Dummkopf!_ Look what you did to my schnapps!"

"I didn't mean to! I was dusting and I knocked it over. I'm sorry!"

"Be careful next time." Klink was about to turn to go back to his desk when Carter started talking.

"I really am sorry. I've always been clumsy. I remember one time…"

Klink marveled at how long the American could talk. When the prisoners were finally done, they left. Klink strolled around his office. They really did do a good job, much to Klink's relief. Usually anything that involved Hogan and his men turn out a disaster, to him at least. He put the contents of his safe back and sat down at his desk to finish his tea.

Back in Barracks Two the men were congratulating themselves on a job well done. They had gone in there, took pictures of the code book, and left, and they did it all right underneath Klink's pointy nose.

Wolfgang Hofmann walked through the forest on his way back from a rendezvous with another Underground agent. He patted his chest pocket to make sure that the plans were still there. The sound of rustling paper met his ears, and his gave a small smile. _So far, so good._ Now all he had to do was get this to the Underground in Hammelburg.

The moon provided plenty of light for him to see. He was walking along the river when something caught his eye. Lying at the end of a fallen log was what looked like a human being. Wolfgang approached cautiously. The man looked about in his late twenties. He had dark hair, a beard, and was covered in mud. He also was wearing a Heer uniform, but he didn't look like a soldier to Wolfgang. The man had the appearance of a fugitive. _He must be a deserter,_ he thought.

It only took Wolfgang a few seconds to make up his mind. He wasn't going to leave the young man alone, but he had to be careful. So, taking his gun out just in case, he picked up a stick and poked the man in the shoulder.

"_Wake up, young man,"_ Wolfgang said, in German.

The man was obviously a light sleeper and wake up almost immediately. "Wot? Where am I?"

Wolfgang was shocked. English, he had just spoken English. _"Who are you?"_ he asked before he could stop himself. Then it occurred to him that since the man had spoken English, he probably didn't know German. But before he could ask the question again in English, the man replied in Wolfgang's native tongue.

"_Who are _you_?"_

"_I am a friend. I won't hurt you."_

The man looked skeptical and Wolfgang saw him shift into a different position as if getting ready to make a run for it.

"_What's your name?"_ Wolfgang asked. He had to get the man to trust him so he could help him.

There was a bit of hesitation before the man answered, _"Peter."_

"_I'm Wolfgang."_

Than Peter did something that Wolfgang would never had expected, not in a million years.

"_For the world is hollow, and I have touched the sky."_

Wolfgang stared at Peter in shock. It took a few seconds to regain his composure enough to reply.

"_But there is still hope in the rising Sun." _That was one of the recognition codes. Which means…. _"Are you Underground?"_

Peter took on an expression of relief and visibly relaxed. _"You might say so."_

"_What happened, why are you here, and why do you look like you've been through hell?"_

Newkirk sighed. _ "It's a long story, mate."_

Author's Note: Thanks for the reviews.


	9. Come in, Papa Bear

Chapter 9

Newkirk was sitting at the table, relishing his cup of coffee. For the first time in two months, his stomach was full and he was clean. The bath had felt heavenly, and the scratchy beard no long existed. The German uniform was replaced with a white button-up shirt, brown pants, and suspenders. He couldn't do much about his hair at the moment, so he had just combed it aside and hoped that it looked normal.

His host, _Herr_ Wolfgang Hofmann, lived in a small cottage not far from where he had found Newkirk. He lived alone with his dog, Heidi. Wolfgang came into the kitchen with Heidi at his side, and sat down at the other side of the table.

"_How is the coffee?"_ Wolfgang asked.

"_Marvelous. Thanks, friend. I really needed it,"_ Newkirk replied.

There was a pause. Newkirk sipped his drink as he watched the Underground agent scratch Heidi behind the ears.

Then Wolfgang spoke. _"You are not German, are you?"_

"_What gave me away?"_ Newkirk asked with a grin. He knew about his slip of the tongue earlier. Spewing out English in the middle of Germany is the type of thing that could get you killed. He was lucky this man was with the Underground.

Wolfgang chuckled. _"Well, if you are not German, than what are you?"_

"_I'm English."_

"_English? What is an Englishman doing out here in the middle of Germany wearing a Heer uniform?"_

Newkirk then proceeded to tell his story, careful not to mention Stalag 13 or any other important details about the operation. In this type of business, the less that others knew about you, the safer you were from the Gestapo.

When he was done telling his tale, Wolfgang sat back in his chair and whistled. _"Son, if I hadn't seen you before you got cleaned up, I would never believe you."_

Newkirk smiled at the older man's reaction. _ "I know, sometimes I don't believe half of it myself."_

Wolfgang got up and poured more coffee into Newkirk's now-empty cup.

"_Thanks."_ Newkirk took another sip of his coffee. _"Do you have a radio, by chance?"_

"_Yes. It is in the attic."_

"_Do you mind if I use it? I need to contact my boss and tell him not to give away my bunk."_

"_Your bunk?"_

"_It's an inside joke of ours,"_ Newkirk lied. _"But may I use it?"_

"_Yes, of course. I will take you to it. Follow me."_

Wolfgang led Newkirk to the attic and showed him how to use the radio. Newkirk thanked him as he went downstairs to make a bed for his guest.

"Mockingbird to 'Ome Plate. Mockingbird to 'Ome Plate. Come in, 'Ome Plate."

The next thing Newkirk heard was a very bewildered Kinch come in over the radio, "This is Home Plate. Is that really you, Mockingbird?"

For the first time in what seemed like ages, Newkirk laughed. "'Ello Uncle Tom, it sure is me. I was just callin' to tell you that I wasn't lost in me little walk in the park."

There was a pause, then Newkirk heard a loud _thud_. "Uncle Tom? Are you all right? 'Ome Plate, come in. Come in, please."

There was no answer. Newkirk didn't think that anything was wrong. He would have known if Kinch wasn't himself, and it was very unlikely that Jerry had found the tunnels. Then why wasn't Kinch answering, and what was that thudding noise? Then it hit him. Newkirk began to laugh. Kinch fainted; that was the only explanation. Kinch had actually fainted! It took a few minutes for the American to wake up, and when he did, Newkirk was still laughing.

"Okay, Mockingbird, I get it, now will you shut up already?" but Kinch's voice was devoid the anger of his words.

"I can't 'elp it! You actually fainted!" Newkirk said in between the giggles he couldn't hold. It felt good to laugh.

"I just can't believe it's actually you. We all thought you were dead!"

That got Newkirk to stop laughing. "You wot?"

"We thought you had died, even the Germans think you're dead. How did you escape the wreck?"

"Jumped off the bloody thing in the nick o' time."

"Where are you?"

"A little less than 'alf way to 'Ome Plate. I'm stayin' with a miner. 'Ow are things there?"

"Fine, just fine. Boy, everyone is going to go crazy when I tell them."

Newkirk smiled at that. "Tell 'em I'm on me way back and not to worry, I'm in good 'ands."

"Will do."

"Mockingbird out."

Newkirk turned off the radio. He put the microphone and headset down and went downstairs to see what Wolfgang was up to. Talking to Kinch had put him in a good mood; things were starting to look up. Newkirk knew he would be home in no time.

~I~

Kinch practically threw the microphone and headset down. He ran to the ladder and hit the switch that would open the trap-bunk. Once it was open, he bonded up it and out into the common room.

"Where's the Colonel?" he asked LeBeau and Carter who were getting ready for lights-out.

"In his office. Why?" LeBeau asked.

"Colonel!" Kinch yelled.

"What's going on, Kinch?" Carter asked.

"You guys are never going to believe it," Kinch answered.

Hogan ran out of his office. "What is it? Is something wrong?"

"Something wrong?" Kinch laughed. He couldn't keep himself from grinning like a maniac. "Nothing's wrong, Colonel."

"What is it then," Hogan asked in annoyance.

"You'll never guess who I just talked to on the radio."

"Who?" Carter asked. He was only one that wasn't getting annoyed with Kinch.

"Newkirk!" Kinch practically shouted with joy.

"Kinch, I'm not in the mood," Hogan turned to back into his quarters. LeBeau muttered something in French. Carter just stood there staring at him.

"No, I'm not joking! I really _did_ talk to him. He's alive!" Hogan stopped and turned back to look at him. He had an expression of skepticism and what looked like fear. As if he were afraid to hope and then have that hope smashed to pieces.

"I'm not lying, Colonel. He's alive," Kinch pleaded. He knew it was hard for them to believe him, even _he _didn't believe it at first and he had actually heard Newkirk's voice.

"You mean, Newkirk isn't dead?" Carter's voice was a whisper. Kinch looked at him. Dark brown eyes met light blue ones. Carter was looking at him, searching. Searching for any sign of falsehood. Any sign of deceit and apparently he didn't find any. The grin on Carter's face spread from one side to the other. He let out a "Whoopeee" and jumped into the air.

LeBeau burst into tears. "Pierre is alive?"

Kinch smiled. "Yes, I just talked to him. He's alive and safe."

"I don't believe it," Hogan said. He still looked skeptical.

"I didn't believe it either until after I woke up from a dead faint," Kinch said. He wanted the Colonel to believe him, so that he would stop beating himself up for not being able to get Newkirk out of the German army.

There was a moment of silence, then the room exploded into a roar of questions.

"He's alive?"

"Where is he?"

"What happened?"

"How did he survive the train wreck?"

"You fainted?"

"When is he coming home?"

The other men of Barracks Two joined the interrogation. But since everyone was talking at the same time, no one could hear what Kinch was saying.

"Fellas, hold it!" Hogan yelled over the bin. The room went quiet. "Okay, Kinch, tell us everything."

Kinch smiled. Everyone was looking at him, eagerly awaiting the tale like children waiting to hear a bedtime story. Even Hogan leaned in to better hear everything. Kinch decided not to disappoint them.

"Thanks, sir. Well, I was sitting at the radio, about to shut everything down and come up, when I heard someone talking over the radio. At first I thought it sounded like Newkirk, but I didn't believe it was him. Then I realized that he was using his code name, Mockingbird. I admit, I was a bit shaky when I responded, but when I heard him laugh, _that_ was when I knew that it really _was_ Newkirk."

"And that's when you fainted?" asked Olsen. Everyone laughed.

Kinch blushed. "Uh, yeah, it was."

"How did he survive the train wreck?" another man repeated one of the earlier questions.

"He said he jumped off the train right before it blew up."

"Where is he?" Hogan asked.

"He said that he was less than halfway here, and that he's staying with an Underground agent. He also said that he's fine and that he's coming home."

A cheer went up. Some of the men threw their hats up in the air. There was lot of patting on backs and a few hugs.

"Pierre is coming home!" LeBeau shout excitedly.

Amidst the shouting and whooping, Colonel Hogan just stood there. Kinch watched him carefully. Hogan seemed to be struggling with doubt. Kinch walked over to him.

"You know, Colonel, if you want confirmation, we can contact him tomorrow."

Hogan looked at him. Kinch saw the same look Carter had given a few moments ago, the look of searching. Kinch sighed. "You really don't believe me." He said it as a fact, not a question. He couldn't help but be a little hurt.

"Kinch, it's not that I believe you would lie about something like this, it's just that this could all be a big mistake and Newkirk would still be dead. I don't think I could handle losing him again."

"Colonel, you can't loss him again if you've never lost him to begin with."

"I know. We'll contact him tomorrow and I hope for all our sakes that you're right, because if you're not, it'll take a lot longer for us to recover, _again_."

Kinch nodded. "Trust me, sir. I know it was him."

Hogan turned to go back to his quarters just as Schultz came in and announced 'lights out'.

Kinch quickly told Carter and LeBeau that they were going to radio Newkirk tomorrow before he got ready for bed. He knew no one was going to get much sleep tonight, himself included.

~I~

Hogan paced in his quarters. Kinch's news was a surprise indeed. But Hogan didn't quite believe his staff sergeant. He believed that Kinch heard someone that he _thought_ was Newkirk. God knows how much they all have missed him. Hogan knew for a fact that Kinch had gotten lonely, being down in the tunnels all the time. Kinch heard Newkirk's voice because he _wanted_ to hear it.

Hogan signed. He was beginning to worry about his second in command. Losing Newkirk was bad enough, losing him _and_ Kinch would cripple the whole operation. Not to mention what it would do to his men, and himself. He couldn't afford to lose Kinch now. He had come to rely on the man's cool head and calming presence. He was the perfect second in command. He didn't get in the way when Hogan needed to make a decision, but could take charge when he needed to. Hogan was reminded of Dr. Watson from Sherlock Holmes. Holmes once said that Watson helped him to think. Kinch did the same thing for Hogan. Of course, Hogan could come up with ideas and plans without the man's presence. But Kinch was his rock, his foundation. What was he going to do if his foundation splintered?

He sighed again. _Well, we'll all find out tomorrow,_ he thought.

~I~

LeBeau couldn't keep still during roll call. Last night had been the longest night he could remember. It seemed even longer than the night before his wedding had been. When roll call was _finally_ over, he ran into the barracks, opened the trap door, and jump down it, with Carter right behind him. They were both waiting impatiently by the radio when Kinch and Hogan came down.

After many 'hurry ups', Kinch was sitting at the radio, hailing Newkirk.

"Home Plate to Mockingbird. Home Plate to Mockingbird. Come in, Mockingbird."

"Why does he not answer?" LeBeau asked, annoyed with his friend's inconsideration.

"It's not very nice of him," Carter commented.

Several minutes passed with no answer.

Hogan sighed. "Kinch, I don't think he's going to answer."

"He may not hear us, sir. We should try a little longer," Kinch said.

"Home Plate, this is Frankincense," came an unfamiliar voice.

"Who's _that_?" Carter asked.

"He must be the Underground agent that Newkirk's staying with," Kinch responded before addressing the agent. "Frankincense, is Mockingbird around?"

"Mockingbird? Oh, yes, of course. You must be his boss. He is not here at the moment but I will go get him, please stand by."

A few seconds later they heard the voice they thought they'd never hear again.

"'Ome Plate, this is Mockingbird. I 'ad a feelin' you'd be callin' me again."

It was true. LeBeau could hardly believe what he was hearing. He had believed Kinch when he said Newkirk was alive, but this put all doubts out of mind.

"You know us, once we start something we can't stop until it's finished. We still aren't able to decipher your accent," Kinch teased.

"Ha, ha, you're a laugh," Newkirk said sarcastically. "Are you gonna be all right, mate? We wouldn't want you to faint on me again, now would we?"

"I'm fine, but it looks like Napoleon is going drop at any moment," Kinch said looking over at LeBeau. He could barely keep his excitement under control.

"Is 'e there?" Newkirk asked.

"Yeah, we all are," Kinch replied.

"Come on, Kinch, you got to talk to him last night, it's our turn," Carter complained.

"_Oui_, let us talk to him," LeBeau agreed.

"All right, all right," Kinch consented. He handed the mic to Carter.

"Hey, buddy, this is Bullfrog. Boy, are we glad to hear from you! I mean, we thought you were _dead!"_

"So I've been told. 'Ow are things over there?"

"Great, well, as great as it _can_ be without you. When are you coming home? I think we should have a homecoming party for you. What do you think about that? We could get Rolly-Poley to get the stuff for Napoleon to make a cake and the Col-, I mean Papa Bear, can get Mr. Big Shot to let us stay up late and-," Carter was interrupted by the sound of laughter coming over the radio. To LeBeau, it sounded like music, it was so good to hear that laugh again. He didn't realize until now, exactly how much he'd missed his friend.

"You don't know 'ow much I've missed your natterin'," Newkirk said.

Carter blushed. "Oh, uh, thanks, I guess."

"But 'ow are you goin' to get Mr. Big Shot to let you 'ave a party if 'e still thinks I'm dead?" asked the voice of reason. Newkirk did that sometimes.

"Um, I guess I never thought of that. I guess we'll have to wait until he finds out you really are alive. But all last night I was planning the party in my head and, boy, is it going to be a doozy!"

"Andre, it is my turn to talk to Pierre," LeBeau said as he pulled on Carter's sleeve.

"Okay, Louis," Carter said to LeBeau and than to Newkirk, "Napoleon's being impatient. So, I guess I'll see you later. Bye."

"Bye, mate."

Carter handed LeBeau the microphone. "Hello, _mon ami_," LeBeau said.

"'Ello, little mate. 'Ave you been 'avin' any trouble keepin' up on the sewin'?"

"_Non_, I have not needed to sew anything lately. But, I think it is agreed that you are better than me at it."

"Is that a compliment?"

"You are lucky I'm in a good mood, or I would be screaming your head off, right now."

"Why? Wot did I do?"

"You let us believe you were dead, for starters."

"You mean you're goin' to blame this all on me? Oh, that's bloody charmin'. After everything I've been through, I get screamed at by a ruddy Frog."

LeBeau could stop grinning. He was so happy. But their friendly bantering was interrupted by Hogan.

"LeBeau, I want to talk to Newkirk," he said.

"_Oui Colonenel._ Mockingbird, I have to go, Papa Bear wants to talk to you."

"Right, mate. I'll see you when I come 'ome."

Reluctantly, LeBeau gave Hogan the mic.

"Mockingbird, this is Papa Bear. What is your location?"

"I'm almost at the 'alf way point."

"What is your estimated time of arrival?"

"One day at the most, if I go by train."

"Good, when are you going to leave?"

"As soon as possible. I've contacted Tiger and she's goin' to meet me when I get to 'Amelburg. I'll be stayin' with 'er until we get this problem of ours sorted out."

"Okay, sounds like a good plan. We'll try to figure this out before you arrive. And Mockingbird, try not to get into anymore accidents, okay?"

"I'll try. Mockingbird out."

Hogan set the microphone down.

"What are we going to do, Colonel?" Kinch asked.

Everyone looked at Hogan. LeBeau could tell that the Colonel was still digesting the information. Then he said, "We're going to bring Newkirk home."

* * *

Author's Note: If you're wondering about the code names, I am going to write a short about it, explaining how they each got their code names. But I tried to pick something that fit the character's personalities a little.


	10. Meet Me in Stalag 13

Chapter 10

Newkirk wasn't too fond of the idea of traveling by train. He would have preferred a bus or a plane. But a train was faster than a bus and less expensive than a plane. Besides, Wolfgang was already at the booth buying the ticket. Newkirk was trying to convince himself that nothing was going to go wrong, when the agent came over to him, ticket in hand.

"_I hate trains,"_ Newkirk muttered as he was handed the ticket.

"_That is understandable,"_ Wolfgang said.

"_Look, I can't tell you how grateful I am for taking care of me. If there's anything I can do for you, friend, you know how to contact me."_

"_No, you don't understand, it is my job to take care of you and those like you. This is my calling. This is how I can help my country. Now, you better get to your train before it leaves."_

Newkirk put his hand out, _"It's been a pleasure."_

Wolfgang took it, completing the handshake, _"The pleasure is mine. Take care, and good luck."_

With that, Newkirk got on the train. Once he found his set, he looked out the window to see the agent still standing on the platform. Newkirk waved. Wolfgang waved back. The whistle blew and the train started its journey west. Newkirk may never see Wolfgang again, but he would never forget what the man did for him. He gave Newkirk hope.

~I~

Tiger sat patiently on the platform. Newkirk's train would be there any moment. She was glad that he had escaped the fate that so many believed that he had endured. She was very surprised when he had contacted her asking to meet him at the station. She had agreed to take him in until Hogan had sorted everything out back at Stalag 13. She was brought back to reality when the whistle blew. Within minutes the train had stopped at the platform and its passengers were filing out one by one.

When Newkirk came into view, she made a show of looking happy and ran to him.

"_Josef!"_ she shouted happily and flung herself in his arms. Newkirk, apparently understanding her actions, picked her up and spun her around.

"_Heidi, how are you, love?"_ he said as he kissed her softly on the cheek.

She knew that he was just putting on a show, but she still couldn't help but blush. _"I am good, now that you are here. Come, I have the car waiting."_ She led him off the platform and to a car that was parked on the side of the street. The whole time they pretended to be reunited lovers.

Only when they were in the car and driving away from the station did they drop the façade.

Newkirk, who was in the driver's seat, glanced at Marie. "So, would you mind tellin' me where I'm goin'?" he asked in English.

She smiled. "But of course, turn left here."

They sat in a comfortable silence the rest of the ride to her apartment. Once they got there, she led him up the stairs to her room.

"Please, sit down. Are you hungry? I will prepare you a sandwich." Marie went to the kitchen.

She came out with a ham sandwich and a glass of milk. He was sitting on the sofa.

"Ta." He took the food and, to Marie's amusement, began to quickly devour it.

_He must be hungry,_ she thought. It was then that she noticed how thin he was. "It must have been hard," she said.

He looked up at her. There was a haunted look in his eyes. "Tiger, you 'ave no idea."

"Please, call me Marie. I have nosy neighbors. If they find out I'm in the Underground…"

"Sorry, love. Marie, that's a pretty name," he said absently.

"Oh, really?" she asked with a smirk.

Looking startled, he began to sputter, "No, I don't mean it that way, I mean, I like it the same way I like the name Jacob—"

"Oh, and do you know any Jacobs?" Marie teased.

"Oi, you know wot I mean. Why do you ruddy Frogs always gang up on me?" Newkirk asked in exasperation.

Marie laughed. "Maybe because you are so fun to 'gang up on'. But we must contact Papa Bear and tell him that you have arrived."

Putting down the now empty plate, Newkirk got up to follow her. They went into the bedroom and Tiger pressed a hidden button that opened a secret cabinet. She brought out a radio and Newkirk helped her hook it up. Soon they were hailing Stalag 13.

"Tiger to Papa Bear."

"This is Papa Bear," came the almost immediate response.

Tiger then proceeded to inform Papa Bear that Mockingbird had arrived safely and was awaiting instructions. Papa Bear told them to stand by.

"He doesn't sound as lonely as before," Marie commented as they waited.

"Who, Kinch? Yeah," Newkirk said. After a pause, he chuckled, "You should 'ave 'eard 'im when I first radioed 'em."

Tiger smiled. She was well aware of the close friendship between the men of Stalag 13. How happy they must be to get their friend back. "You never told me how you survived the sabotage."

"Honestly, I don't know. I was 'bout to jump off the ruddy thing, when it just exploded."

"You were going to jump off?" she asked a bit shocked.

"It was the only way out I could think of," Newkirk replied.

Marie watched him drift into deep thought. Then the radio came to life.

"Come in, Tiger. This is Papa Bear," came Hogan's voice over the speaker.

"Tiger here," she responded.

"Is Mockingbird with you now?"

"_Oui_, he is right here."

"I'd like to talk to him."

Tiger moved out of the way so Newkirk could speak into the microphone.

"This is Mockingbird."

"Look, I have a plan."

"I knew you would."

~I~

Carter tried to be patient. But it was too hard. He kept peeking out of the abandoned barn's door to see if Tiger and Newkirk had arrived yet. Hogan's plan was that Newkirk would hide out in the barn and someone would 'report' him. He would pretend that he had been living in the barn for two months waiting for the chance to get away. As for the jacket, he would say that he killed a rabbit and got blood all over his jacket so he threw it away. It was a good plan, simple and easy.

Carter peeked out the door for the tenth time in as many minutes. "When are they going to get here?" he asked Hogan, who was standing next to the fire in the middle of the barn.

"Carter, they're not supposed to be here for another twenty minutes. Come here and sit down," Hogan said somewhat irritably.

"Yes, sir." Carter went over to his CO and sat down on one of the hay bales. After what seemed like hours, they finally heard a knock on the door. Carter was up on his feet in a flash, but Hogan caught his shoulder before he could run to the door. The Colonel drew out his gun as he carefully watched the door. Carter felt his hand relax when they saw Tiger slip in followed, by a familiar figure.

When Hogan let go off him, Carter ran towards Newkirk and gave him the biggest hug he had ever given someone in his whole life.

"I missed you to, Andrew," he heard Newkirk say.

Carter couldn't help himself; once he heard those words he began to cry. He held the Englishman tighter as he sobbed into Newkirk's shoulder. He was afraid that this was all a dream and that if he let go then Peter would disappear again.

As if hearing his thoughts, Newkirk spoke softly, "Shh, it's alright, Andrew. I'm 'ere and I'm not goin' anywhere. Everythin's goin' to be all right."

When Carter finally gained control of himself, he pulled away from Newkirk's arms to look at his friend's face. It was thinner than before, in fact, now that he thought of it, Newkirk's whole body was thinner. His hair was longer and he looked tired. But his green eyes still had the same glint in them.

"You done, mate?" Newkirk asked with a smirk.

"Yeah, I'm done," Carter sniffed. "Boy, it's good to see you!"

"Carter, you're not going to hog him all up, are you?" Hogan asked from behind him.

"Oh, sorry Colonel, I forgot about you," Carter blushed as he stepped aside.

"I noticed," the Colonel said.

Newkirk offered his hand to Hogan. "'Ello, Gov'ner, I 'ope you got along all right without me," he said, his smile widening.

The Colonel took it and pulled the Englishman into a hug of his own, much to Newkirk's surprise. When they pulled away, Hogan looked into Newkirk's eyes and said, "Don't you dare do that to me ever again, understand?"

Newkirk nodded, in shock. Carter was also astonished by the seriousness in the Colonel's tone.

Then Hogan smiled, "Good, see that you don't." With that, he let go of Newkirk.

Tiger, who had been watching the scene unfold in silence, spoke up. "Well, if you do not need me, I have to go."

Newkirk took her hand and kissed it, like a true gentleman. "Ta, love, for everythin'."

"You would have done the same for me," she responded.

"I'll take you to your car," Hogan volunteered.

"_Merci._"

When they left, Newkirk shook his head. "The Gov'ner sure didn't change."

"That's for sure. Hey, we brought your uniform! Come on, I'll help you get it on." Taking Newkirk by the arm, Carter led him over to the fire where the bag with Newkirk's clothes was. Carter babbled about what had been going on while the Englishman was away. When Peter was dressed in his normal attire, minus his airman jacket, they both sat down on a hay bale and proceeded to talk and tell stories. Carter basked in his friend's presence. Just like Peter said that Andrew was the little brother he never had, so Peter was the big brother that Andrew never had. Carter felt safe with him, as if everything was going to be all right, and everything was. Andrew Carter was sure of it. Everything was going to be all right.

~I~

Hogan approached the barn with the conversation he had with Tiger still rolling around in his head. He quickly wiped the lipstick off his cheek before he entered. When he saw Newkirk and Carter sitting together on the hay bale, he smiled. The Englishman suddenly laughed as Carter told him of the prank he had pulled on Olsen. It had been pretty funny, Hogan had to admit. He watched Newkirk while the two talked, oblivious to the outside world. He noticed that Newkirk seemed to be hanging on every word that Carter said. Hogan wondered exactly what his Englishman had been through. But that would be for another time. He stood there a few more seconds studying the man he had thought was dead. But no, he was alive. _He's alive!_ Hogan still felt a twinge of guilt for not being able to stop this whole event from happening, but that least Newkirk had found a way out despite his failure. Hogan wasn't used to failure. But he put that thought in the back of his mind. They needed to start heading back to camp. He hated to break up the reunion, but they would see Newkirk again tomorrow.

"Carter, it's time to go."

Carter looked disappointed, but not nearly as disappointed as Newkirk.

"Aw, Colonel, must we?" Carter's eyes were pleading.

"We have roll call in three hours, as much as it's good to see Newkirk again, we won't do much good if we miss it."

Carter looked at Newkirk sadly. "I guess I'll see you tomorrow."

Newkirk gave a small smile. "Until then."

"Good night, Peter."

"Night, Andrew."

Carter got up and walked to the door were Hogan was standing. "Get some sleep, Newkirk. God knows you need it," Hogan ordered.

"Don't worry 'bout me, Guv, when you leave, I'll go out like a light," Newkirk said with a smirk.

Hogan smiled. He and Carter were about to leave when Newkirk suddenly called out to them.

"Sir, say ''ello' to Kinch and Louis for me."

"I'll do that," Hogan said. He could tell that Newkirk didn't want them to go; he had always been a convivial person. Hogan suddenly felt sorry for his Englishman, to have spent two month alone fighting to survive and then to be so close to home, but still be alone.

He ushered Carter out the door, but before leaving himself, he looked Newkirk in the eyes. "Everything's going to be fine. You'll be able to see everyone in the morning. Just hang on one more night." _Please?_

Newkirk nodded.

Hogan left Newkirk alone in the abandoned barn.

The walk back to camp was quiet. Carter was being unusually silent. Not that Hogan minded; he didn't feel much like talking.

When they got back, they were met with a very excited LeBeau and Kinch.

"Did you see Pierre?" LeBeau immediately asked. He hadn't even waited for Carter, who went down the ladder first, to reach the bottom.

"Yeah," Carter said softly.

"What's wrong? Did something happen?" Kinch asked in concerned at Carter's unusually quiet response.

"Nothing's wrong," Hogan said as he reached the bottom and headed towards the radio room

where they could talk more comfortably.

"How is he? Did he have any injuries?" LeBeau asked as he followed him.

Hogan couldn't help but smile. Mother-hen LeBeau was living up to his title right now. "No, he's just a lot thinner, but I'm sure you can fix that, LeBeau."

"_Oui_, I will. I wish you had let me go."

"I know," Hogan said softly. He could still see the disappointed looks on LeBeau's and Kinch's face when they found out that they couldn't go too. "He told me to say 'hello' for him."

LeBeau smiled. "I cannot wait for tomorrow."

Hogan smiled at that. His attention was turned to his other two men when Kinch spoke.

"What's wrong, Andrew?" the black man inquired with a tint of concern coloring his voice.

"Oh, I was just thinking about Newkirk," Carter answered.

"What about him?" LeBeau prompted.

Hogan inwardly shook his head. _These two are going to squeeze out every single bit of information we have about Newkirk,_ he thought. But Hogan listened to the sergeant's reply. He was curious as to why Carter was acting like this.

"Well, he seemed lonely," Carter said.

"Lonely?" Kinch asked.

"Yeah, you should have seen his face when the Colonel said it was time to go. He looked like we were leaving him forever. He must have been through a lot. From what I heard, he had been traveling alone on foot for two months."

"On _foot_!" LeBeau exclaimed, before he began ranting in his native tough. Hogan couldn't understand him, of course, but that didn't mean he didn't have an idea of what the Frenchman was saying. He was probably thinking the same thing.

_Two months, on foot? And he got how far? No wonder he looked like a pole. I'd lose a lot of weight too, if I pushed myself that hard. Newkirk, you really know how to make a guy worry._

"Holy cats, Peter," Kinch whispered.

"I agree," Carter said. "He must have really wanted to come back."

Everyone stood in silence as those words sunk in. _He could have gone to England,_ Hogan realized.

But no, he came back here. He came back to a life of danger and captivity. He came back to leaky barracks and lumpy beds. To hard work and little sleep. He gave up his freedom for misery and heartache. Now if that didn't say something about a person's character, what did? Hogan suddenly felt honored to work with such a man.

Finally Hogan broke the silence, "Come on, fellas, let's try to get some sleep before roll call."

He led his men up to the barracks. Once they came up, the rest of the men of barracks two and even some from the other barracks were there, waiting for them.

"Colonel! Did you see him?" Olsen asked.

The lights were out, so Hogan couldn't tell where Olsen was in the group of men that surrounded them.

"Yes, I did."

There was a round of relieved whispers, then someone that sounded like Sgt. Wilson asked, "Is he hurt?"

Hogan grinned. Expect a doctor to ask a question like that. "I believe he's suffering from exhaustion and some malnutrition, but besides that he's fine." There was no point in lying to the man, he would find out later anyways.

"When is he coming here?" another man asked.

"He'll most likely be here sometime close after roll call. Now, fellas, it's time for bed. Tomorrow you can ask Newkirk your questions. And those of you who don't belong in this barrack, be careful when you go to your own. I don't want you to get shot!"

A soft chores of 'yes, sir' went up. Then the men began to make their way to their beds. Those few who didn't sleep in Barracks Two quickly snuck out the door.

Hogan went into his quarters and began to get ready for bed. It had been a busy day, with making plans to get Newkirk back into camp. The other men had been working on getting everything ready for the homecoming party they were going to have for Newkirk.

Hogan hopped up onto his bed and despite his excitement, he was out within minutes.

The men of Barracks Two drifted off to sleep one by one. Their spirits were high when they thought about their comrade, friend, and brother that they had gotten back.

Until tomorrow, men of Stalag 13.

* * *

Author's Note: He's almost there, guys.

Thanks for the reviews and the encouragement. I honestly didn't expect to get so many viewers.


	11. History Repeats Itself

Chapter 11

Klink sat at his desk doing paperwork, or at least trying to. He had noticed that the men of Barracks Two seemed to be eager for some reason during roll call. It wasn't the normal eagerness that they usually showed as they waited for roll call to end. It was more like anticipation, like they were waiting for something to happen. That made Klink wary. Whenever Hogan's men were anticipating something, it was always something bad for Germany. He was interrupted by his thoughts when the phone rang.

He answered it. _"Hello, this is Colonel Klink speaking."_

"_Hello? I have called to report that there is an Allied solder hiding in the abandoned barn by the Hamelburg road,"_ said a female voice.

"_What? Are you sure? Who is this?"_

"_Yes, I am sure. Good luck, Heil Hitler."_

Klink heard a click to indicate that the caller had hung up. He then followed suit. _An Allied soldier? How did he get here, there haven't been any air raids lately,_ he thought.

He called Schultz. When the fat sergeant came, Klink told him about the phone call and ordered him to go and pick up the enemy solder.

"_Jawohl, Herr Kommandant_," Schultz said and then left.

Klink didn't give the event anymore thought and continued with his paperwork.

~I~

Sergeant Schultz stopped the truck a few yards away from the barn. He didn't want to scare the man who was in the barn. He and Langenscheidt got out and snuck quietly up to the door. Schultz put a finger up to his mouth as a sign for the corporal to be _very_ quiet. The man inside could be dangerous.

Langenscheidt nodded his comprehension.

Schultz slowly opened the barn door and peeked inside. There was a fireplace in the middle of the room and some hay bales gathered around it. On one of the hay bales was the form of a man curled up. _He must be asleep_, he thought.

He motioned for Langenscheidt to follow him as he silently crept inside, gun in hand. He didn't even notice that it was upside down, he was so tense. Schultz swallowed hard, as he crept closer to the middle. Once he was close enough to see the man's face, he stopped. Mouth open, eyes wide, he looked at Langenscheidt. _"D-do you see what I s-s-see?"_

The corporal looked like his eyes were going to fall out of their sockets. _"Y-y-yes, S-sergeant."_

Once the shock had died down, joy bubbled up in Schultz. "Newkirk!" he shouted with glee.

The Englishman jumped at the sudden wake up call.

"Is that you, Schultzie?" Newkirk asked as he tried to blink sleep out of his eyes.

"Newkirk! You are alive! We thought you were killed by a wild animal! Oh, the boys are going to be so happy when they find out that you are not dead!"

Schultz could hardly contain his excitement. Newkirk just grinned at him. Oh, how Schultz had missed that smile.

"Come, we must bring you back to camp." He had grabbed Newkirk's arm to lead him to the truck when he stopped. "Newkirk, you are so thin and have dark circles underneath your eyes. Are you all right? Are those tears? You are crying," Schultz said in concern.

"I'm all right, mate. I'm just glad to be goin' 'ome."

That mildly confused Schultz, but not too much. He knew how close the boys were. Newkirk probably missed them.

He led the English corporal to the truck and into the back. Telling Langenscheidt to drive, he climbed in after Newkirk.

~I~

LeBeau could hardly contain his excitement as the truck rolled through the gate and pulled up to the Kommandantur. As soon as it had stopped, he ran to it. By the time Newkirk had climbed out, LeBeau was there and had attached himself around the Englishman's waist in the fiercest hug he had ever given anyone.

"Cor, Louie, I can't breathe!" his friend gasped.

LeBeau heard Schultz chuckle as he relax his grip, but he didn't let go.

"_J'ai pensé que vous étiez mort! Je pensais jamais te revoir! N'avez-vous jamais faire ça à moi!" _he said in a voice so full of emotion that he could hardly speak.

"I know, Louie, I know, I'm sorry," Newkirk soothed. LeBeau tightened his grip as Newkirk spoke. Tears rolled down his cheeks and soaked Newkirk's blue sweater. It amazed him, sometimes, how the Englishman seemed to always know what he was saying even when he was speaking French.

By this time a crowed was gathering around them. They stayed like that for close to a minute before LeBeau _finally_ let go. Kinch swept in from out of nowhere and give Newkirk a hug of his own, though with less ferocity than LeBeau's.

"You really know how to make a guy worry," Kinch teased as he pulled back, but LeBeau saw the tears in his eyes.

"Sorry, mate," Newkirk said with all seriousness.

Then the rest of the men swarmed in, giving Newkirk handshakes and pats on the back. "Welcome back." "It's good to see you." "I'm glad you're not dead!"

Olsen walked up with the widest grin on his face and shook Newkirk's hand with both of his. "Man, you've got some nerve coming back here, after we had such a lovely funeral and everything!"

Then Wilson pushed himself through the crowed. "I'm beginning to think you're never going to die," he said as his too shook Newkirk's hand.

The roar of laughter was loud. LeBeau was smiling like a buffoon the whole time. It had been so long since he had been this happy and he could tell that Newkirk was thinking the same thing. LeBeau saw Hogan and Carter start to make their way through the large crowd when Klink came out of the Kommandantur.

"What is the meaning of this?" he shouted over the noise. Everyone was immediately quiet.

By that time, Hogan had made it to the steps where Klink was standing.

"We're celebrating the homecoming of Corporal Newkirk, sir."

Klink looked at Hogan in disbelief, "Hogan, Corporal Newkirk is—"

"'Ere I am, sir," Newkirk interrupted.

Klink's eyes got so big that his monocle fell out and clattered on the porch. "You're-you're-you're alive?"

"Well, sir, he's standing right in front of you," Hogan pointed out.

"But how? I mean, the jacket! It was covered in blood!" Klink asked.

"Well, you see, sir, I 'ad just killed a rabbit and got blood all over me jacket and so I just tossed it, I did," Newkirk replied

"Hear that, Kommandant? He just tossed it, he did," Hogan said.

"Hogan, I heard what he said," Klink snapped. "Schultz, bring that man into my office," he said pointing at Newkirk.

"_Jawohl, Herr Kommandant_," Schultz acknowlaged. Taking Newkirk's arm, he led the Englishman into the building.

"Colonel, as Senior POW Officer, I—," Hogan started.

"Very well, you may come too," Klink cut him off then picking up his monocle, he huffed into the building with Hogan following him.

After that the crowd dispatched, with the exception of LeBeau, Carter, and Kinch.

"Well, that put away any doubts I had," Kinch commented while staring at the closed door of the office building.

"_Oui,_" LeBeau agreed.

"You know, I can't shake this feeling that someone's looking out for us," Carter said thoughtfully.

LeBeau looked at the American, then shared a glace with Kinch.

"You know, Andrew, I think that maybe you're right," Kinch said with a smile.

~I~

Convincing Klink of the cover-up story was a breeze. Convincing him not to throw Newkirk into the cooler had been harder, but the Kommandant finally relented and even allowed the party to take place.

Hogan stood out in the compound with all of his men. So far, it was a great party. LeBeau had baked a beautiful cake and Newkirk had just blown out the candles. Everyone was cheering and shouting and having a wonderful time. Carter had sent off some fireworks he had made especially for the party. There was a big 'Welcome Home' banner draped across one of the barracks. If any of the Germans wondered where they got all the decorations in such short notice, none of them asked.

Everything was going well, and Hogan liked it when everything went according to plan.

He smiled at the excitement around him. Everyone was celebrating; even those who didn't know Newkirk were taking the opportunity to party. Those who knew Newkirk were asking him question after question and Hogan could tell that he was enjoying every bit of it. Not because of the attention, but because he was surrounded by the people he loved. Hogan watched the Englishman. He had gotten a haircut before the party and was wearing a clean uniform that he borrowed from one of the other RAF corporals, since his own were too big for him now. Hogan listened to the stories Newkirk told, about the train wreck itself and about what happened afterwards. The story that disturbed Hogan the most was the one with the mob that thought he was a deserter.

But he was having such a good time that he had missed the car that came through the gate and the man that got out and went into the Kommandantur.

Newkirk was in the middle of telling them about when Schultz found him in the barn when Klink came walking over to them followed by Major Hochstetter.

Hogan immediately felt a knot form in his stomach. He had momentarily forgotten about the Gestapo major.

"Corporal Newkirk, I am taking you in for questioning," the major said smugly.

Newkirk looked at Hogan with fear in his eyes. Hogan swallowed, feeling a sense of _déjà vu_. Doubt clouded his mind. He had failed Newkirk that day two months ago, was he going to fail again today? No, he was determined not to fail him this time.

He stepped in between the corporal and the major. "Why? He's already been questioned by Colonel Klink. He doesn't need to be questioned again. If you want to know what happened, why don't you ask the Kommandant?"

"Because I don't believe one vord of it," Hochstetter growled. The major was already getting annoyed with him, Hogan could tell.

He turned to Klink, "Colonel, are you going to just stand by and let him take one of _your_ prisoners away? The Geneva Convention states—," but he was interrupted by Hochstetter.

"I do not have time to argue with you, Hogan." Hochstetter stepped around him in an attempt to get to Newkirk, but Hogan blocked him again.

"Colonel?" Hogan pleaded to Klink.

Klink shrugged. "He has written authority from General Burkhalter," he said sadly.

Hogan couldn't believe it. Newkirk had just gotten there and now they're going to take him away. He desperately tried to think of something. In his condition, Newkirk couldn't handle much 'interrogation'. But nothing came to mind. He could think of absolutely nothing. Then he noticed Hochstetter staring at him.

"You know, Hogan, I don't have to take the Englander away. If you tell me who sabotaged the ball bearing factory two months ago, I could just leave him alone. That is, _if_ he didn't have any part in it."

Hogan starred at him. "I don't know who did it," he finally said.

"Then step aside."

Hogan glared at the shorter man. "No."

There was a pause. Then Hochstetter pulled out his gun and pointed it at the prisoner who was standing closest to him. "Hogan, move aside or I will kill this man right here."

"You can't do that!" Hogan yelled.

"Oh, yes, I can," Hochstetter smirked evilly.

"Major, I'll not stand—" Klink started but Hochstetter cut in.

"Shut up, Klink! Stand aside, Hogan! Or I will shoot."

Hogan hesitated, but when he saw that the major wasn't bluffing, he quickly stepped aside. He hated himself for it, but it was either do as he was told or watch the monster murder one of his men. He watched as Hochstetter put his filthy hand on Newkirk's arm and dragged him to the car. He watched as Newkirk gave him a betrayed look as they passed him. He watched as the car drove out the gate.

Without a word, Hogan turned around and went to his barracks and then into his office. He had failed again. He had failed when Newkirk needed him the most. He had failed then, he had failed now. Hogan sat down at his desk. Why? Newkirk had just gotten there. He was just about to finish a story that Hogan knew was going to be funny. Newkirk didn't deserve this. He didn't deserve to come back and then be ripped away from his friends.

Despair filled Hogan. It was like finding your favorite toy only to have it stolen from you. It wasn't fair.

~I~

Everyone just stood there. Nobody moved. Even Klink stood stone still. This wasn't supposed to happen. Kinch had seen Hogan leave. Everyone else was looking at the gate. Then, as if they were all of one mind, they came to life. Klink and some of the other prisoners went to do whatever they had been doing before. Some shouted and argued with each other then stomped off, well others walked dejectedly away. Some were angry, some were worried, and others didn't know what to think. Prisoners slowly left the compound until it was only Kinch, LeBeau, Carter, Olsen, and Wilson left.

"I don't believe it. I just don't believe it," Kinch was the first to speak.

"Yeah," Wilson agreed softly.

"_Le_ _Colonenel_ let that filthy bosch take Pierre away!" LeBeau whispered angrily.

"LeBeau, you saw what happened. That monster was going to _shoot_ Cullen," Wilson said. The anger in the medic's voice was very evident.

"Yeah, if the Colonel didn't do what Hochstetter said, then Cullen would be dead right now," Olsen said.

"But Pierre had just gotten here," LeBeau said, then he shouted, "This isn't fair!"

"Yeah, I know," agreed Kinch, "But the Colonel couldn't just let Hochstetter shoot Cullen. Newkirk understands that."

LeBeau turned and ran. Nobody stopped him.

Kinch sighed. "I better go check on the Colonel. Carter, you see if LeBeau's all right."

Carter nodded and without saying a word, turned and followed after LeBeau.

Wilson told them that he was going to go to his barracks. So Kinch and Olsen went to Barracks Two. Kinch went to the colonel's door and knocked. There was no answer. He slowly opened the door and peeked inside. Colonel Hogan was sitting at his desk with his head in his hands. Kinch went in and quietly closed the door. He went to the bunk and sat down on the bottom bed. He didn't say anything because he didn't need to. If Hogan wanted to talk, then he would talk. If not, than Kinch would just sit there and keep his colonel company. In the time that they had worked together, Kinch had become Hogan's confidant. The colonel would confide in him and he would offer any comfort or advice he could. Kinch made sure that his CO knew he could speak freely in front of him and that he wouldn't think any less of him as his commanding officer, or friend. In return, Hogan would listen to Kinch anytime something was bothering him. By doing this, they had formed an efficient and competent command team. Working together well on the toughest missions and making sure that the other men were safe.

Kinch knew how hard Hogan took failure, especially when it came to his men. He watched as the colonel lifted his head from his hands to look down at his desk.

"I've failed him…again," Hogan whispered.

"You didn't fail him, sir. If you hadn't stepped aside, Hochstetter would have killed Cullen."

"I should have thought of a way out. I should have been able to think of something. Kinch, why is it that all of a sudden I can't keep Newkirk safe anymore?"

Kinch sighed. "Sir, you did your best, that's all we can ask of you. We can't expect a miracle every time something like this happens. Newkirk can take care of himself. He's proven that many times and this latest incident only intensifies it beyond proportion."

"Did you see the look he gave me when Hochstetter took him away?"

"Yes, sir, I did. But I think that Newkirk really knows that you couldn't have done anything. I'm sure he also knows how hard it was for you to step aside."

"And how do you know that?"

"Probably from being stuck with him down in the tunnels for hours upon end," Kinch replied with a smirk.

Hogan smiled, it was small but it was also genuine.

"Besides, sir, you can't give up yet. Just because Hochstetter's got Newkirk doesn't mean we've lost the battle. You can still get him back. I know you can."

Hogan looked at Kinch. His eyes showed hope mixed with doubt.

Kinch continued. "Sir, we were given another chance. Let's not waste it by giving up. He didn't quit when he was stranded hundreds of miles away from here. Now, it's our turn to keep holding on and not let go. He got himself this far, now we have to help him get the rest of the way."

Hogan still looked hesitant.

"We can't let doubt stop us from doing what we need to do," Kinch said gently.

"You're right, Kinch," Hogan said. He smiled. "Thanks."

"Anytime." Kinch got up to leave. He was at the door when Hogan called to him.

"Kinch."

He turned to look at his colonel.

"I'm sorry that I doubted you when you said that Newkirk was alive."

Kinch smiled. "It's all right, sir. I understand."

"No, it's not. I thought you were going crazy."

"Crazy?" Kinch didn't know what to think about that. He was a little offended that someone would question his sanity without due cause, but at the same time he realized that he must have sounded somewhat crazy when he said that he had just talked to Newkirk when they all thought he was dead.

"I'm sorry," Hogan said looking embarrassed.

Kinch smiled. "That's all right, sir. Guess I can understand where you would come up with something like that."

Relief flooded Hogan face and he grinned. "You know, you sometimes scare me almost as much as the others do."

They both chuckled at that and Kinch left Hogan to come up with a plan to bring Newkirk back home…_again_.

~I~

Newkirk sat in the backseat of Hochstetter's car, trying _not_ to show his fear to the major who was sitting next to him.

He felt betrayed, which he knew that he shouldn't. The colonel did the right thing. By stepping aside, he saved someone who didn't even know about the operation. Newkirk could take whatever the Gestapo threw at him. At least, he hoped he could. He wasn't as strong as he was all those other times that he'd been questioned.

All he had to do was hold on until the Gov'ner got him out. Simple, right? He looked over at Hochstetter who was still holding his gun. _Oh, bugger._

_

* * *

_

Author's Note: Thanks to all you wonderful readers and even more thanks to those who have reviewed and even _more_ thanks to my beta-reader, Deana.


	12. The Journey Ends

Chapter 12

Carter was walking in the dark. He couldn't see where he was going, but he had to keep walking. He didn't know why? He didn't even know where he was, but he had to get somewhere before it was too late. Too late for what? He didn't know. As if his feet had a mind of their own, they led him to what looked like a train at one time; it was twisted and broken. Pieces were everywhere and not just train pieces…there was also body parts mix in with the metal and glass. Carter could smell the rotting flesh and it made him throw up.

When he was done, he looked up and saw a lone figure standing there looking at the train. It was a man, from the looks of it, and when he turned his head, Carter immediately recognized him. It was Newkirk. He called to the Englishman but there was no response. There was something wrong with Newkirk's eyes, something that disturbed Carter. When he looked at him, he noticed that the English corporal's eyes weren't green. They were pitch-black. That frightened Carter.

"You're not Newkirk," he stammered.

The man that looked like Newkirk smiled evilly. "And what gave you that idea?" he asked. The usual Cockney accent that accompanied that face was terrifyingly absent.

"Where's Newkirk? What did you do with him?" Carter asked. He was beginning to be afraid for his friend.

"He's dead."

There was a pause.

"No, he's not. I saw him. He's still alive. He survived the train wreck. He didn't die." Carter stuttered. Fear was piling up inside him.

'Newkirk' only smiled. "You are right. He did survive the wreck. But that wasn't what killed him. He was beaten to death by the Gestapo."

"No."

"He never breathed a word about the operation, of course—"

"No!"

"Don't worry, he died a painful death. Every bone was broken, and he screamed for mercy—"

"NO!"

Then Carter saw him. It was the _real_ Newkirk. He was lying on the floor next to the imposter. His body was as twisted and broken as the train right besides them. He face was almost unrecognizable, and by the horrid way his neck curved, Carter knew that it was broken. His arms and legs were bent in an unnatural way. Bones were sticking out of the skin in some places, and blood was everywhere.

"NO!" Carter shouted again. He ran to his friend's mangled body and knelt down. He didn't what to believe what he was seeing. It couldn't be true. Newkirk had come home only to be taken by the Gestapo and brought back like _this?_ Carter scooped Newkirk's body up in his arms and held him. He could feel the broken bones as he cradled the Englishman. Tears fell freely down Carter's creeks.

"No, no," he whispered. He looked down at Newkirk's bruised face. It was frozen in an expression of immense pain. "No," he sobbed and buried his face into Newkirk's crushed shoulder.

"Roll call!"

Carter opened his eyes. The image of Newkirk's broken body disappeared and was replaced with the barrack's wall. He rolled over to see Schultz banging on Private Wilkinson's bunk.

"All right, all right!" the private shouted angrily. Schultz chuckled and went to the other bunks to make sure everyone was getting up out of bed.

Carter sat up and rubbed his eyes. As he began to get ready, he couldn't stop thinking about his nightmare. It had disturbed him terribly, and he desperately hoped that it wouldn't come true. It had been three days since Hochstetter took Newkirk away…Carter tried not to imagine what that monster had done to his friend, and chose to think about the fact that Newkirk was coming back today.

They all went outside and lined up for roll call. Schultz counted them and they, naturally, tried to mess him up. When he was _finally_ through and had the right number, he reported to Klink that all were present and accounted for. Klink dismissed them and went back to his office.

Carter followed LeBeau and Kinch back in the barracks. They sat down at the table, and a few minutes later Hogan came in and joined them.

"So, when is he coming, _mon Colonenel?"_ LeBeau asked.

"Schultz said he was due sometime in the evening," Hogan said as he sat down with a cup of coffee in his hands.

"I hope he's all right," Kinch commented quietly.

They all nodded. Carter thought about his dream and shuddered. He still couldn't get the look on Newkirk's face out of his mind.

The day dragged on uneventfully, except that London radioed and wanted them to take care of a munitions dump that night. It was decided that LeBeau and Carter would 'take care' of it.

When evening came, Carter was sitting outside the barracks on a bench with LeBeau. Kinch stood next to them leaning against the barracks wall, while Hogan paced in front of them. They were all silent, each lost in their own thoughts. The silence was broken when a truck pulled up to the gate.

"He is here!" LeBeau said excitedly.

They all ran to the truck as it pulled up to the Kommandantur. Emotions of excitement, fear, relief, concern, and joy mix in each of them as they reached the back of the truck. Two Gestapo guards came out and pointed their guns at them. They watched as Newkirk gingerly climbed out of the truck and walked over to them.

"'Ello, mates," he said.

Carter was so relieved that his dream wasn't true that he almost hugged the Englishman, but noticed how slowly his friend moved.

"Pierre—" LeBeau began but was unable to go farther

Newkirk smiled in understanding. "It's all right, little mate."

"Come on, Newkirk, let's get you to the infirmary," Hogan said.

"Welcome home…again," Kinch said.

They all chuckled as they walked Newkirk to the camp's infirmary.

~I~

LeBeau watched as Sgt. Wilson examined Newkirk. It was found out that the Englishman's injuries weren't too extensive, much to everyone's relief. There was an ugly, red welt on Newkirk's right cheek and dark bruises dotted his chest and abdomen. Even though he was not _badly_ hurt, LeBeau was still mad at the fact that his Pierre _was_ hurt. _That filthy bosche!_ _If I could only get my hands on him!_ LeBeau thought fiercely. But all the same, he was grateful that Newkirk was alive and that he was back, hopefully for good.

When Wilson was done, he and Hogan went off to the side to discuss their friend's condition. The rest of them moved closer to the bed where Newkirk sat.

"Boy, this is getting old," Carter commented as he sat on the bed across from the English corporal.

"You're tellin' me?" Newkirk chuckled.

LeBeau sat next to Pierre. "I am sorry."

Newkirk looked over at him. "Wot for?" he asked in puzzlement.

"I am sorry for everything you had gone through."

"It's not your fault, mate," Newkirk sighed.

"But I am sorry all the same," LeBeau persisted.

"Yeah, me too," Pierre said quietly.

"Peter, are you going to be all right?" Kinch asked from where he was standing beside Carter.

LeBeau studied Newkirk. He looked old and worn. His face held a hint of anxiousness. Not the normal anxiousness that the man four years younger than LeBeau usually exhibited, but a different kind. It was almost as if Pierre was waiting for something to happen…something else to come and drag him away from the place that he had come to call home. LeBeau noticed that Carter and Kinch were showing the same signs, and he couldn't have that.

"Nothing will happen," LeBeau said firmly.

Newkirk looked at him, his green eyes searching for something in LeBeau's brown ones.

"It is over," LeBeau said softly. He needed Newkirk to believe him. Everything that had happened in the last two months, in the last three days, everything they had been through was over. It was done. They had Newkirk back and that was all that counted. That was all that mattered to LeBeau at this moment. His Pierre was home.

Newkirk nodded once, then turned to look at the floor. LeBeau could see the conflicting emotions on the Englishman's face. After a moment of silence, he spoke in a quiet voice. "You all were the reason I made it."

No one said anything, encouraging Newkirk to continue. It was so very rare that Newkirk actually shared his feelings that when he did they listened to every single word.

"Whenever it got too 'ard to go on, I thought of you and 'ow you needed me to come back. You're the reason I'm 'ere and not lyin' on me face in the snow dyin' from 'unger or the cold."

Silence once again befell the group. LeBeau could barely keep the tears back. He was touched, and he didn't have look to know that the others were touched as well. LeBeau reached out and placed his hand on Newkirk's shoulder. What an adventure this had been.

Across from them, LeBeau heard Carter sniff. Kinch walked over and sat on the other side of Newkirk, placing a hand on his arm and saying, "It's good to have you back, Peter."

LeBeau felt Newkirk's shoulders shake as the man silently cried. Louis could only imagine the emotional strain that this whole event had caused to his friend. It was overwhelming for _him,_ and he wasn't even the one who was alone for two months and then tortured by the Gestapo.

Once Newkirk was finished, he suddenly looked up, and his brow creased in confusion. He turned to Kinch and asked, "'Ow _did_ you get me out of there?"

He was talking about the Gestapo Headquarters, of course, and LeBeau couldn't help but smile as Kinch explained with a smirk.

"We went on strike."

Newkirk gave him a dubious look. "You didn't."

Kinch's smirk turned into a full-blown grin. "Yes, we did. We refused to do anything until we got you back," he laughed.

"Yeah! Boy, you should'a seen Klink! He was madder than when Schultz accidently broke down his bedroom door while he was sleeping!" Carter excitedly volunteered while wiping the tears from his eyes.

Newkirk laughed. LeBeau then saw that he didn't look so tired anymore. The youthful glint had returned and LeBeau smiled all the wider. Newkirk was safe and now he was sound. It was amazing what a little laughter could do for a person, and while LeBeau believed that the wound hadn't healed, at least it didn't sting as much.

~I~

Hogan and Wilson watched the exchange from across the room. Hogan was relieved when he saw Newkirk laugh. Not just a chuckle, but an actual laugh. He smiled as he himself remembered The Strike, as everyone called it. To be honest, Hogan didn't know if it would work. It was a last resort. A desperate attempt to get back the man they lost. But it worked. Hogan suspected that Klink wasn't as mad as he had appeared to be. Oh, he was mad, but it seemed to Hogan that he was actually glad for the reason to call Burkhalter and get his prisoner back. The General wasn't happy, though. That much was certain. But it had worked. Newkirk was home.

"You know, I think Newkirk's going to be fine," Wilson commented.

"I hope so," Hogan said. He walked over to his men. "Fellas, I'd like to talk to Newkirk in private."

The round of unhappy faces made Hogan feel a little guilty. They had been through a lot and with finally getting Newkirk back; he could understand the want to be near the Englishman. But there was something he needed to say, in private. Still, he took pity on them.

"It'll only take a minute," he assured them.

Reluctantly, they left. Wilson was nowhere to be seen, so Hogan sat down where Carter was sitting only seconds ago. Taking a deep breath, he was about to start when Newkirk cut him to the chase.

"It's not your fault, Gov'ner."

"How'd you know what I was going to say?"

"You 'ad that 'look' in your eyes, the one that says, _this is my fault and I'm goin' to beat meself up 'bout it._ You ain't that bloody 'ard to read."

Hogan smiled before growing serious. "I should have been able to prevent it."

"You got me out of that ruddy cell with 'Ostetter and 'is trigger 'appy guards."

"Yeah, _after_ he took you away."

Newkirk sighed. "Look, Colonel, if you're so bent on blamin' yourself, then I forgive you. Just know that _I_ don't blame you for not bein' to stop somethin' that you 'ad no control of."

Hogan was silent. Newkirk continued.

"Carter told me wot 'appened at the factory after I was taken away, and all I can say is that you tried, and when the Gestapo came, you 'ad to do wot they said or right now Cullen would be dead and I would still 'ave been taken. So you see, it wasn't your fault. You didn't fail me, sir."

Hogan looked into his corporal's eyes and saw nothing but earnest sincerity. He still blamed himself, but he felt better knowing that Newkirk didn't. It made his guilt more bearable and with time, who knows, maybe he'll begin to believe what Newkirk was telling him. But not today.

He smiled again, and this time it was genuine. "It hasn't been the same without you."

Newkirk gave him a mischievous smirk. "No surprise there, sir."

"I'll go tell the fellas that they can come back in." He got up to walk to the door.

"Thanks, Gov."

"For what?"

"For bringin' me back 'ome."

"You're welcome."

~I~

Kinch sat at the radio reading one of the few books that they had in camp. LeBeau and Carter had already gone out to deal with the munitions dump that London wanted dealt with. Hogan was somewhere up in the barracks, and it was just him and Newkirk. He looked up from his book to watch the Englishman work on a jacket of some kind. It was like nothing had ever happened. Kinch was at his radio, and Newkirk was in his sewing corner. He heaved a very content sigh.

"I know wot you mean, mate."

Kinch looked back up at his friend and smiled, but didn't say anything. They didn't need to. They both knew what the other was feeling: contentment. Everything was okay.

~I~

As Newkirk worked on the civilian jacket, he couldn't help but smile. He was with his family. He was where he belonged. He was home.

The End

* * *

Author's Notes: Thanks so much for reading and the support. Thanks again to my beta reader, Deana.

Just so you know, there is an Epilogue.


	13. The Epilogue

Epilogue

Hans Zoeller walked down the streets of London. After twenty years, you wouldn't have known the city had faced such destruction during World War Two by the hand of the Nazis. He was here on business, but had taken the evening off to enjoy the sights. It was a beautiful city. He was strolling through a small park when he noticed a familiar figure walking a few feet in front of him. There was something about the way the man moved. Hans began to walk faster. When he caught up, he called to the man. "Excuse me, sir."

The man turned around. He looked to be in his fifties and walked with a cane. He was definitely British, Hans could tell that even before the man began talking.

"'Ello, lad. Is there somethin' I can 'elp you with?"

"Hello, I'm Hans Zoeller, I vas vondering if we've met?"

The startled look that the older man gave him puzzled Hans.

"You're 'Ans Zoeller? Blimey!" the man said in wonder.

"May I ask who you are?" Hans said. It was obvious that the Englishman remembered him, but he was still at a loss as to who this man was.

"Peter Newkirk, or if you like you can call me _Imaginary Being_."

Hans was confused at first, then it hit him. _Those eyes!_ "You, you are the imaginary being that I met when I was a child!" he said in disbelief.

"That's me. Tell me, did your wish come true?"

Still trying to get over the initial shock, Hans thought about the question. Ever since he had run home from that fateful meeting, he had changed. He tried to be like his older brother, Clovis. He tried to help with the chores and helped watch his little sister. He had believed what the man with the green eyes had told him, believing that he had been an Imaginary Being. He had believed that his wish would come true. Even after he stopped believing in the imaginary part, he still believed in what the mysterious man had told him. So he kept on trying, and now that he thought of it, his wish _had_ come true. He had become like the brother he had lost. Hans smiled.

"_Ja, _I believe it has."


End file.
